In Limbo
by The Buzz
Summary: One night in Purgatory, Dean is surprised to encounter his father. But what is John doing there? And more importantly, how will his sons deal with his return? Featuring the Winchesters, Cas, Benny, and other season 8 regulars, as well plenty of character stuff, action, angst, and whump.
1. Chapter 1

The crackling of the small fire was pleasant and Dean let his thoughts drift. It wasn't every night they made one—there was no real need to cook, and fire could draw monsters like a beacon—but today had been both unusually cold and unusually slow in the monster department, and so Dean and Benny had made the decision together. Fire. Now Dean sat with his back to a stump, one knee up and the other leg out before him, sharpening his blade, and Benny sat not quite across from him but not quite with him either, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. In the flickering glow the night felt almost peaceful.

"Ever do this as a kid?" Benny asked.

Dean glanced up from his blade. "Do what?"

"This." Benny shrugged. "Campfire. Time was I could sit out there for hours on a summer night, just watching the flames and listening to the woods around me. Good days, those."

"Oh." Dean shook his head, and watched a little wistfully as one of the logs collapsed, sending up a shower of embers. "Nah. Not really. I mean, Dad taught us some marine stuff but we never just sat out there. Couple of times at Bobby's I guess." He snorted softly. "Tried to roast marshmallows with Sammy once or twice but it turns out people disapprove of ten-year-olds setting fires in motel parking lots."

"Well," Benny said, "you missed out."

Dean nodded, setting the blade down. It was sharp enough. "I'm getting that."

They fell into companionable silence again, sitting that way until the fire started to gutter. They'd been at this for weeks, now, running, fighting, searching for Cas, and slowly Dean was beginning to feel something unexpected—real friendship. And more than that, he was actually beginning to trust the guy. It was more than he could say for anyone, really, since Cas's betrayal, though of course Cas was…a special case.

He was pulled from his thoughts a second time by a foreign sound in the woods behind them, the subtle but unmistakable crackle of leaves underfoot, and it was close. Much closer than Dean should ever have allowed it to be. Well, this was the price they paid for their fire and their peace. No different from the way things were at home, really, but at least here the tradeoff was unambiguous.

In a fluid motion he met Benny's eyes, grabbed his blade and stood, pivoting to meet the threat behind him, and he could see Benny doing the same, fangs extending. As soon as Dean was up the creature shot toward him. Impossible to tell in the flickering firelight what monster the soul had belonged to but as Dean ducked a forceful blow from a spiked weapon he caught a glimpse of wild eyes and thick hair and ragged clothes—something familiar about it all but he couldn't say what—then the moment was gone, the figure out of the dying firelight and charging at him again. They parried and hacked for a few seconds—damn it this monster was _good_—until Dean turned and swung with his blade but missed, the ragged man letting Dean's momentum carry him forward and slamming the club into the side of Dean's leg just above the knee. Dean dropped to the rocky ground with a yell but as he did Benny came up from behind, taking his place. He and the monster traded blows quickly as Dean stumbled to his feet but when Benny landed a forceful punch to the man's side the man doubled over with a grunt and Dean saw his in. He charged forward and rammed the man against the nearest thick tree trunk, knocking the makeshift mace out of his hand and holding his blade to the man's throat, snarling the question he asked of every monster they defeated.

"Where's the angel?"

"The what?" the man snapped.

More than anything it was his voice—gruff, irritated but so much the same—that made Dean freeze and stare at the face in the orange glow of the dying fire, unbelieving. For the man's voice, his eyes, the way he moved and fought weren't just familiar, he was— "Dad?"

John Winchester stared at him, equally uncomprehending. "Dean?"

Dean blinked several times but his father's face didn't leave his vision, haggard and angry but unmistakably Dad under the beard and the grime and a long scar clipping one ear. Dean let his blade relax, though he'd seen enough in Purgatory to know not to let it drop completely, and asked breathlessly, "What the hell?"

John, or at least the man who looked like John, glanced down at the blade still pinning him to the tree, then back up at Dean. "Silver blade?" he asked.

Dean nodded reflexively, aware Benny was watching with interest but completely at a loss to explain anything for himself, let alone to the vampire. "Yeah," he said, drew a small knife out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and used it to slice the arm still holding the larger weapon to his dad's throat. When nothing happened John nodded, once, chin scraping Dean's blade, and raised his arm slowly for Dean do the same. The skin split but there was no tell-tale hiss and after a moment Dean put the small knife back in his pocket, took half a step back, and let the arm holding his stone cleaver drop.

"Dad," he said, then shook his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times before other words actually found their way out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," John said.

"I thought you went to Heaven," Dean said. "After Yellow Eyes—you went up in a flash of light—how did you end up here?"

"Never made it," John said, shrugging slightly. Dean blinked, still trying to process the fact that this conversation was happening at all, let alone the words his father was saying. He glanced at Benny and the vampire was watching impassively…but then how could he possibly know what this meant? How crazy this was? "Felt something grab a hold of me," John went on. "Everything got brighter and I thought I was on my way upstairs. Then it all stopped and I was here. Like I got yanked back. Don't know why." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Why are you here? Did you die? What about Sam? Is Sam all right?"

Dean shook his head. One thing at a time. "Sam's fine," he said. "And I'm not dead, at least I don't think so." As for the rest of the story, well, the full version would probably take a whole hell of a lot more time than he wanted to spend just then. Not to mention dredge up several things he wasn't sure he wanted his father to know. "Had a run-in with some leviathans back home," he said simply. "Turns out you explode one, it sends you here. Been running and hunting since." And looking for Cas. But that was _really_ a story for another day.

"You know your footwork is rusty," Dad said. "Never used to be so easy to knock you down."

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but closed it without a sound, caught halfway between a reflexive _yes sir_ and arguing that his fighting technique was just fine, especially considering he'd recently spent weeks in a full leg cast. But it was more than that. This was _Dad_. The man he'd alternately loved and mourned and hated and feared he was becoming, over and over again, and they were practically making small talk in the gray wasteland of Purgatory as though none of the last seven years—the last thirty years—had happened. What made it stranger was that he'd imagined this moment so many times after Dad died. Wishing for forgiveness or revenge or simply answers…and now that he was here he had no idea what to do. He wanted so many things—to reach out and envelop him in a hug, to hit him as hard as he could, to shove him against the tree again and demand explanations for every choice that had screwed him and Sammy from the day Mom died to the day Dad leaned over his bed and told him he'd have to kill his brother if he couldn't save him—but instead, he just stared, and Dad stared back. An eerie sense of déjà vu reminded Dean of the last time they'd stood almost like this, their positions reversed, a monster looking out through Dad's eyes and spouting words that had reverberated in his mind for years after because they were so true. But things had changed. Dean had changed. And he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"I hate to break up this moment," Benny said.

Both Dean and John's heads snapped toward the vampire, who raised his hands in a pacifying motion.

"What's up?" Dean said, immediately alert. He stepped back from John a bit more and scanned the woods around them, tightening his grip on his blade.

"Just hoping someone could fill me in on what's going on here," Benny said.

Oh. Dean let out a breath and let the weapon drop again. He'd grown used to Benny's vampire senses picking up approaching monsters he'd been ready to fight at the sound of his companion's voice. Of course it was a good thing they weren't being attacked but to be honest he might have welcomed the distraction. Hunting here was simple. Pure. Figuring out what to do with any of these feelings… not so much. "Benny, this is my father," Dean said, then let out a single laugh and gestured between them because he couldn't think of anything else to do. "John, Benny. Benny, John."

"Nice to meet you, John," Benny said.

John didn't return the greeting. Instead, he glared at Dean as soon as the vampire had spoken. "You're hunting with a vampire." It was more a statement than a question, and the betrayal in his voice was plain. Dean wondered at it for a moment until he remembered that Dad had never met vampires who didn't drink people, nor demons who'd put aside their hate to work on a common cause nor angels who'd fall for a couple of humans. In Dad's world the supernatural was always wrong, and to him any alliance was akin to selling one's soul. Somehow, Dean imagined, neither a century in Hell nor five years in this wasteland had done much to dispel that belief.

He sighed softly and answered anyway, though he knew it was probably futile. "Benny's been nothing but good to me, Dad," he said, and Benny gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "He also knows the way out."

"There's a way out?" Dad stared at Benny again, disbelieving, and addressed him directly for the first time since they'd met. His voice took on a strange timbre that might have been hope. "You know a way out?"

"Soon as Dean finds his angel," Benny smiled.

At this, however, John's eyes narrowed again and he studied Dean. "You did ask me about an angel," he recalled. "What does that mean?"

"Angels are real," Dean said, shrugging. He remembered his own introduction to that fact, and how little he'd wanted to believe it, but he couldn't exactly fathom a way to break the news gently. "God, Heaven, all of it. God's been kind of an absent dickbag, though."

"Can't be," John said, glancing between Dean and Benny as if the vampire could offer some kind of explanation. "There's no such thing. I'd know."

"I thought so too, Dad," Dean said softly. Benny nodded. "Believe me. They're real. Most of 'em, you wouldn't want anything to do with, but Cas…"

"The angel you're looking for," John clarified. Dean could practically see the gears working in his head, the lines in his forehead deepening in disapproval. But then, Dad had never welcomed the unknown, and to Dad Cas had to seem as unnatural as Benny and just as undeserving of real concern. Still, if this was going to work at all, he had to try to make him understand.

"Cas is my friend," Dean said, ignoring the way the disbelief on his dad's face shifted until it bordered again on betrayal, or worse, disappointment. He set his jaw and gazed back at Dad evenly. "And I'm not leaving here without him."

* * *

_Big thanks to my awesome friend Becky for helping me plan this story as well as looking this over and offering suggestions. You're the best!_


	2. Chapter 2

John had surprisingly little to say about Dean's declaration. "An angel is your friend?" he asked. He sounded doubtful, but the stress had been ever so slightly on the word _friend_—as though that were the unbelievable part. It rankled a little bit but then, Dean supposed, Dad had never seen him (never let him) have a friend before.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, the syllable coming out more defensively than he'd intended. "He's also saved my ass more times than I can count."

"How did this happen?" John asked.

"It's a long story," Dean said. A long story he had no intention of telling any time soon. Dad didn't need to know he'd been to Hell, nor that he'd started the apocalypse nor how many times he'd lost Sam in the process. There would be a time for it, sure, but it was hard enough for him to process the fact of his father's presence. He could only imagine what Dad was thinking and there was no need to add his list of recent failures into the mix. "The angels thought they needed me for something and sent Cas to get me," he said simply. "Started working with him and ended up that way I guess."

"Means a lot to you, then?" John asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. "This…angel?"

Dean nodded, but didn't explain further. Hell, he wasn't sure he understood what his relationship with Cas was, exactly…and there was no way he was going to try to describe it to his father.

"I see," John said, in a tone that clearly said he didn't see, but he didn't press the point. Instead he rubbed a hand across his chin and regarded Dean intently. "And Sam? What happened to Sam?"

Dean nodded again, not quite expecting the change of subject but not terribly surprised by it either. In any case the rapid-fire nature of his dad's questions was so familiar he couldn't help but answer, quick and concise, like Dad had taught him. "He was fine."

"Where'd you leave him?" John asked. "Was he fighting leviathans too?"

"We were both there," Dean said. "But you kill the main guy, the rest die too. Or something. Sammy can take care of himself."

"Was he alone?"

Dean sighed. Of course John would never take _Sammy can take care of himself_ for an answer. Hell, Dean might have actually had a childhood if he had. "Not alone," Dean said, forcing the bitterness out of his voice. He focused on recalling the lab where they'd cornered Dick Roman, and how Sam had burst in with Kevin seconds before Dick's explosion had dragged him and Cas here. "Sam had a kid with him but the place was clear of levis."

"A kid?" John demanded, his eyes widening. "Whose kid?"

"A prophet," Dean clarified. "They're, uh, they're real too." He shrugged. "Read and write the word of God, useful stuff these days. This one's a 17-year-old kid from Michigan."

"A prophet," John repeated, rubbing his forehead.

Dean let out a breath. It really was amazing, he reflected, how much had changed since they'd said goodbye nearly six years ago, more if you counted either of their stints in the pit—and he had a feeling that Dad, at least, did. Hell, the last they'd spent any quality alone time together Sam had still been at Stanford and Dean had been an eager-to-please twenty-five-year-old with absolutely no idea what was in store for any of them.

John glanced at what remained of the fire, a pile of mostly flickering embers with a few flames licking up here and there, and folded his arms. "We have a lot to talk about."

Dean nodded cautiously. Despite all there was that he didn't want to tell his dad, at least not yet, they still had somewhere around a hundred and fifty years of catching up to do between the two of them. They'd have to start somewhere. "...Yeah. Course," Dean said, and hoped John didn't hear the hesitation in his voice.

Of course he did. "Something wrong with that?" he asked, studying Dean in the dimly flickering firelight.

"What?" Dean said, looking around stupidly as though the answer might lie in the shadowy woods around them. When he accidentally met Benny's eyes, the vampire gave him an encouraging nod. He looked back to Dad. "No. Of course not."

"Good," John said. He too scanned the woods, though his expression was set, focused, like Dean had seen on a hundred hunts before. "We should be safe here as long as you put that damn thing out." He nodded toward what was left of the fire. "It makes you a target and it makes you blind. That's how I found you."

Dean just stared for a moment, completely unsure of how to respond. The part of him that was thrilled to have Dad back and, as much as he didn't want to admit it, had missed him over the years like a part of himself, wanted to jump to obey like the good son he'd always taken pride in being. That was how it was supposed to be with Dad, no matter how condescending the orders got. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he was not that naïve, obedient kid anymore. Daddy's blunt little instrument. It had taken the shock of Dad's death and years of the consequences of Dad's actions unraveling for him see that what Dad had done to him and Sam was twisted, that it wasn't right to raise your children as soldiers, that Dad had robbed them of a childhood, a home, and a normal life, then abandoned them and not had the decency to pick up the phone when they'd needed him. When Dean had needed him. And it had taken all those years for Dean to get angry, call John a deadbeat dad and believe it. Once he had, he'd felt free for the first time in his life. The idea of giving that up…he just couldn't do it.

He met John's gaze, shrugged, and said something he'd never had the balls to say before. "Nah."

John's eyes glinted in the dying light. "I wasn't asking," he said.

"I know," Dean said. "But a lot has changed."

John's disbelief was palpable. "What, you became an idiot?" he sneered, and shook his head. "If you didn't notice, boy, this is Purgatory."

Dean glanced at Benny, who was watching the argument with a mildly troubled expression but remaining otherwise impassive. Not that Dean had been expecting—or even hoping for, considering how well it probably would have gone over—much help from that quarter. Benny was his friend, but he had to rightly know that he had no part in this. "I know where we are," Dean gritted, feeling the anger stirring again. It was just like Dad to come back into his life after six years and treat him…well, exactly like he'd always treated him.

Still, if there was one thing he did know, it was that John always answered a challenge with a challenge. If he wanted to get through to him he'd have to take a different approach. Dean took a calming breath. "Look, Dad," he tried softly, keeping his voice low and placating. John's eyebrows rose at the change in tone. "Me and Sammy, we've been doing this without you for years now. We've faced things I don't think you could imagine. I know what I'm doing."

"I'll believe that when I see it," John said harshly. After a second, though, he scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed heavily. "Dean, I'm sorry. I know you've been on your own." He took half a step back and leaned against the tree Dean had been pressing him up against with an axe to his throat not fifteen minutes before. He sounded exhausted. "But you have to understand, I've been here a long time."

Dean offered a small conciliatory smile, not quite satisfied but willing to accept the truce because it was _Dad_. "Five years, right? That's how long it's been for us since the Devil's Gate."

"Five years," John repeated, and shook his head. "Damn."

They looked at each other. For the first time since John's appearance, Dean felt like he could breathe.

"You do look older," John noted after a moment. "You were like a puppy when I left."

"A puppy?" Dean couldn't help a snort of laughter, and he saw Benny grin across the fire. "Yeah. I guess. You should see Sammy now."

"What is he, ten feet tall?" John asked.

Dean didn't dispute it. "Built like a semi, too."

"You don't say."

"Not so sure about the long hair, though," Dean added, miming hair down to his shoulders with his free hand. "Kinda girly."

John actually laughed.

It was that, and the first real hint of warmth he'd seen in his dad's eyes since their meeting, that made Dean walk over to the fire and wordlessly kick a shower of dirt over embers. Shadows danced around the small clearing, and he was aware that Benny was watching, his expression muted. Well, Dean thought, sending another spray of dirt over the fire, he had no right to judge. There was no way he could possibly understand.

They all got more comfortable once the fire was out. Benny was the first to take his old seat, stretching his legs out before him. Not quite willing to get so relaxed, Dean perched atop the stump he'd used as a backrest before, weapon leaning up against it and within easy reach. His leg ached where his dad had caught him with the spiked club, but it was rare a day went by that something didn't hurt so he ignored it, easily. John had sat down atop the log that had once belonged to Dean's stump and now lay tangent to what was left of the fire. He kept one hand on his weapon but fixed Dean with an easy gaze.

"There are things I want to know," John said once they were all situated. "This way out. What is it?"

"Tell him, Benny," Dean said. It was the vampire's gig, after all, and Benny could explain it better than he could. It probably also wouldn't hurt to force his dad to at least acknowledge the vampire's presence. Benny had been an impressively good sport so far, but in the end he was a vampire and there was no telling how long his sportsmanship would last. Aside from which, Benny was a decent guy and he didn't deserve to be treated as less than human.

"It's a portal," Benny said amiably, his shrug barely visible in the dim light. "Made by God himself to spit out humans like yourselves who got stuck here. So they say, anyhow."

John shook his head. "I been here along time," he said, sounding skeptical. "Never heard of it."

"You talk to many monsters?" Benny asked.

John narrowed his eyes. "No," he said slowly, his voice low. "Do you?"

Dean spoke up before the threat implicit in his dad's tone could take form. "It's okay, Dad. I wouldn't've found out either but Benny came to me with it. Saved my life in the process. He's good people."

Still clearly doubtful, John looked to Benny, who flashed a smile that fell somewhere between cordial and that of an animal baring its teeth. Dean rubbed his forehead. It wasn't that he expected his dad and Benny to become the best of friends. But he didn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle of a pissing match, particularly one brought on by his father's unwillingness to trust anything supernatural, for as long as it took to find Cas. It was already reminding him too much of the headbutting that had always begun John and Sam's arguments—except there was a real possibility here that if things went too far, one of the disputants might actually do some damage.

Miraculously, though, John seemed willing to let it go, at least for the moment. "So Dean," he said. His voice was friendly again and as he went on, Dean supposed his curiosity about his sons after so many years had superseded the desire to put Benny in his place...or whatever the hell he'd been hoping to do. "You said you and Sammy were hunting when you got sucked here," Dad said. "You two been together since Yellow Eyes?"

"More or less," Dean said, then allowed a little smile to show. He realized he'd been sitting stiffly on the stump, tense, and forced his shoulders to relax. "We do make a hell of a team."

"I'll bet," John said, but something in his voice was sad. "I take it Sammy never made it to law school, then, did he. Never got married?"

"Nah," Dean said. Hell, the last time they'd talked about the life he could've had Sam had said he'd rather have Lilith's head on a plate, and that had been years ago. "Never even tried."

"Don't know whether I'm glad to hear that or not," John said, then studied Dean thoughtfully. "What about you? You get anything you wanted?"

Dean froze. As always, when he was drunk or simply stupid enough to let himself think about it, he remembered life with Lisa and Ben, and how despite his grief over Sam he'd had a family free of painful obligations and a place to call home for the first time in his life. But in the end he'd given that up for Sam and duty, and it was hard to think of anything else that even remotely fit the bill. He supposed there was Cas, but then he'd never known he wanted a nerdy angel friend in his life until one had appeared. He took a moment to look hard at John, who—for perhaps the first time in his life again—actually seemed interested in the answer. Still, the very fact it was Dad asking made him want to hold back. "What I wanted?" Dean repeated, maybe a second or two too late, and laughed humorlessly. "What the hell did I ever want?"

"Guess I never thought that much about it," John said softly.

Benny snorted. John shot him a threatening glare, hand tightening around his weapon.

"Right now I just want to find Cas and get the hell out of here," Dean said.

That got Dad's attention well enough. "Tell me more about this angel."

"Cas?" Dean said, and blinked a few times, trying to figure out how to answer. "What do you want to know?"

"How about what the hell kind of creature an angel is first of all," John drawled. "We talking wings? Flying? White robes and hymn singing?"

"None of that," Dean said. It was easier talking about this than it was about what he had—or hadn't—accomplished since Dad's death, but it also brought with it a different kind of ache. He could picture the last he'd seen of the angel's face, deadly serious for the first time since healing Sam, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. _We're much more likely to be ripped to shreds_. Then nothing. It still hurt to think about losing him again and Dean let out a breath at the memory. "Cas would say he's an infinite celestial wavelength or something, but he just looks like a guy. A nerdy little guy in a trench coat. You'd never know what he was. Wings are more something angels…do."

"A trench coat," John echoed. "You're joking."

"Nah," Dean said fondly, and couldn't help the little smile that pulled at his lips. It really was ridiculous to think about, as familiar as the sight had become. "He looks like a friggin' holy encyclopedia salesman but he loves that thing."

John's reaction was not what he expected.

"I saw a man in a trench coat a couple weeks back," he said. "Would've hunted him but a pack of leviathans got there first and I got out of the way. Doubt he's still there but could be a place to pick up the trail."

"You saw him?" Dean said, barely aware he'd stood up and grabbed his weapon, nerves thrumming. He hadn't been so close to Cas's trail in months. Both John and Benny were staring at him a little like he'd lost his mind. "Come on," he said. "We have to go."

"It's been weeks, Dean," Benny said. It seemed half a plea to remain where they were, at least for the night, and half a friend's reminder not to set his hopes too high.

"I'll take you," John said, rising with him. For a moment they just stood, staring at each other through the darkness with weapons in hand, and Dean felt a thrill of the familiar. Him and Dad, on a hunt again. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

John loved to watch Dean hunt. He always had. Even as a boy, his eldest had moved with a fluid, catlike grace it had taken Sammy years more to learn. As he'd gotten older, the grace had remained, the nimbleness replaced by a controlled raw power that was impressive to behold. It had told John, even on the days he doubted himself, even on the days he wondered if maybe he should have just let Mary's death be and moved on with his life, that he had made the right decision. Dean was a god damn natural.

Most of the time, anyway. His natural flew past him at hip level, hit the ground rolling and came to a stop next to a tree and lay still. The wendigo soul that had thrown him shrieked and John leapt forward, smashing his club into its head with a grunt. It gurgled as its skull caved in, but wendigos were tricky monsters to kill and this one was no exception. It stumbled forward, swiping with its claws, and would have taken John's arm off if he'd looked at Dean—who was starting to pick himself up, thank God—for any longer. Nearby the vampire was grappling with two more. The fourth, felled by Dean's cleaver before the others knew what hit them, lay a few feet away, its severed head wedged under a nearby bush. John landed another blow to his adversary's head and this time its whole cranium burst open, splattering him with a lumpy grayish fluid and bits of atrophied brain. It fell, and John smashed its head in once more for good measure. The other two wendigos had the vampire on his back and John saw Dean stumble across the stony ground, grabbing his cleaver as he went, to land a clumsy blow downward where the creature's neck met its shoulder. Clumsy was worrying and so John joined the fray, pulling the injured wendigo away from the vampire so Dean could finish it off with a better-aimed swing.

The vampire had managed to pin the last wendigo against the ground, and glanced up at Dean for a moment. "Where's the angel?" he asked the creature in the politely condescending southern drawl that John was very quickly growing tired of, rattling it and knocking its head off a rock when it didn't answer. "You seen the angel?" The thing just made a wailing noise and after a second or two of that Benny shrugged, glanced at Dean again, and cut its head off. Dean nodded approvingly as the creature shuddered and went still. Dean and the vampire worked well as a team and that bothered John in ways he didn't fully understand himself.

"All right, Dean?" John asked as soon as it was clear no member of the wendigo pack was going to get up again.

"I'm fine," Dean said, though one arm was wrapped around his ribs and he was breathing shallowly. Knowing Dean, that meant something hurt but wasn't likely to kill him. But something like a fatherly instinct was kicking in after so many years and he couldn't help but size Dean up again.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dean sounded a little irritated, then swallowed it and looked back and forth between John and the vampire. "You guys okay?"

"I'll make it," Benny drawled, catching John's eyes just long enough to let him know his next words were, in fact, a poke at John. "Thanks for asking."

John bit down on a surge of annoyance as well as the urge to roll his eyes, and answered Dean instead. "I'm fine too," he said, and looked his eldest up and down. He was still concerned about Dean's sloppiness in the fight. "What happened there?"

His son shrugged, then winced slightly. "Not sure. Thing was faster than me. It happens."

"It happens too much and you're dead," John said, then let it drop, crouching to use a handful of leaves to wipe gray goo off his club. Instead of acknowledging John's concern, however, with a nod or a _yes sir_ like he might have once done, Dean just glanced around at the carnage.

"I friggin' hate wendigos," he said. "Never tell you anything useful."

"Don't smell too good neither," the vampire agreed. John refrained from pointing out that bloodsuckers didn't make for great company either. Dean had made it clear early on that he wouldn't tolerate jibes from either side, and out of respect for his son John had mostly kept his feelings about the vampire to himself.

All in all they'd been at this for nearly five days now, scouring the area around where John had last seen the angel, an otherwise unremarkable clearing with a large rock, looking for any creature who might know where it had gone. John wasn't in love with the idea of finding the angel. No matter what Dean said, an angel was a creature, and in twenty years of hunting, a century of Hell and five years fighting for his life in this godforsaken place, he had yet to meet a creature who didn't mean him or his family harm. Hell, Dean's word was the only reason he hadn't yet killed the vampire where he stood, too.

"So where to next?" Benny asked, stowing the blade he'd stolen off a shapeshifter corpse two days back and scratching his head under his cap.

Dean gazed into the forest. "I say we keep going the way we been going," he said, his voice strained but determined. "Some monster around here must have seen him."

"Let's just hope it's one that speaks English," Benny said, then grinned at Dean. "Or French. I could do French."

"Maybe you shoulda tried that with the wendigos," Dean joked. As soon as he caught John's eye, however, the amusement fled his face.

"Let's go," John said.

Soon, they were walking again, in search of another monster or four to interrogate. Dean took the lead, John followed, and Benny trailed several feet behind. Over the course of the past few days, Dean had described to John what must have been the lion's share of the lore he and Sam had encountered over the years. Angels, God, Lucifer, alphas, time travel, parallel universes, resurrection and Death…there was more than John could have imagined. Dean seemed to have a pretty good grasp of it all. "You should keep a journal," John had suggested with a smile. At this, however, Dean had only shaken his head, his expression sad, and John hadn't brought it up again.

Some apparent sense of obligation had also prompted Dean to fill John in on which of the people John cared about had died—for good, he stressed—since John had gone underground. Bobby, Rufus, Annie, Ellen, her little girl Jo…but the real kicker was Adam. Adam, the son he'd barely known, and the one boy he'd tried so hard to keep away from the life. But of course he'd been sucked in as violently as he possibly could've been. Once the life touched you there was no escaping it, and that was the other reason he'd known he'd made the right decision with Sam and Dean. At least they'd been prepared.

What Dean had spared the details on, however, had been the specifics of his and Sam's involvement in all that had apparently happened. He knew, for example, that Dean and Sam were supposed to have been Michael and Lucifer's vessels in the apocalypse…but Dean had been highly fuzzy on the _why_, claiming angel mumbo jumbo and destiny and such, which John had a hard time believing. Nor had he been particularly clear on why he and Sam had spent so much time hunting the demon Lilith, nor just why Sam had gone off on his own to kill her, raising Lucifer, though Dean stressed that Sam couldn't have known.

What most niggled, however, was how evasive Dean had been about what had transpired in the year between John's death and his escape from Hell. Not so much because it particularly mattered, now, but John had gone to Hell terrified of what might happen without him there, spent untold decades getting flayed and beaten and scorched and pulled apart piece by piece, all the while wondering how his boys had fared with his final order. He knew they'd both lived long enough to make it to the Hell Gate, of course, but he still wanted the details. Now, they had a several hours' hike through the dull gray Purgatory forest until Dean was content to call it a day, and John was tired of wondering.

"So Dean," he began abruptly. "Do you remember what I said to you before I died?"

Dean glanced back without stopping, but his face registered pure alarm and he quickly looked back to the path ahead. He'd been moving gingerly since the wendigo fight but now he went downright stiff. "Of course," he said.

"How did it happen?" John asked.

For a moment, Dean didn't answer but just kept plowing ahead, sweeping a thick growth of vines aside with his cleaver. "I told you Sam's fine."

John quickened his pace until they were almost side by side despite the narrow path. "That's not what I asked," he said. He had a feeling his son was being deliberately obtuse but—unlike Sam, who generally answered a harsh tone by getting angry himself and yelling whatever John wanted to know in the first place—Dean responded to being snapped at by shutting down and giving one-word answers until the conflict was over. Or at least, John thought, that was what his boys would have done six years ago or more. However, it was becoming more and more obvious that he barely knew this Dean at all. "I want to know how you saved him."

Dean still didn't look back. His voice was measured. "I told you. Yellow Eyes collected his special children and did some kind of battle royale thing to pick his guy. Sam didn't win, so me him Bobby and Ellen went out to the Devil's Gate. Not much else to tell."

"Look, Dean, my sources were clear," John said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "Your brother would have to be killed or be saved. I thought it would have to be me then I thought it would be have to be you. But there was no getting around it."

"Well I didn't do either," Dean snarled, then paused so that John nearly ran into him, and rubbed a hand across his forehead before letting it fall with a grimace. He looked back at John for a second but addressed his apology to the path in front of him, picking up his pace again. "Sorry. But that's not how it went."

"How did it go, then, Dean?" John pressed.

"Doesn't matter."

"I'm your father," John reminded him. It had been so long since he'd wanted something from Dean he hadn't gotten he hardly remembered what he was supposed to do. He knew Dean was an adult now—hell, at his age John had had a ten-year-old and a six-year old—but if Dean was going to act like a petulant child, John wasn't going to hold back. "I went to Hell for you. I spent a hundred years on the rack so _you_ could live to do whatever you had to do and now I want to know what that was."

"...That was why you went to Hell?" Dean asked, his voice hollow. Of course that hadn't been quite what John meant, but something stubborn in John rebelled at correcting him. If it took letting his son think that to make him treat John like his father again, so be it. People had thought plenty worse. Dean whacked another rope of vines out of the way, gritting his teeth. "I didn't kill him or save him," he said in a low, regretful voice. "He died. I brought him back."

"What?" John demanded, louder than he'd meant to. "How?"_  
_

For a few seconds, Dean said nothing. Then, in a voice as soft as John's had been harsh, "I made a deal."

A deal. It took a second for the full meaning of the words to permeate John's mind, but when they did his annoyance escalated to a blind anger, a seething sense of injustice like he hadn't felt since the last time he'd spit in Alastair's face for offering him a way out. "You did _what_?" Without thinking he reached forward, grabbed Dean's shoulders and spun him around. Dean gasped and winced as his ribs pulled but John tamped down on his guilt and stared at him wildly. Of all the things... He was aware Benny was watching with concern but he gave even less of a damn about what the bloodsucker might think. "When does your time run out?"

Dean closed his eyes, unable to meet John's anymore. "I already paid my dues."

John resisted the urge to shake him, fingers digging into Dean's arms. Dean opened his eyes, but his expression was guarded. John could barely believe what he'd just heard. His boy, who he'd gone to Hell to protect, had followed him there not a year later? It was unfair and it was wrong and for all he was sure Dean had thought he'd done it for the right reasons John couldn't find it in himself to care. "How long?" he gritted.

"Forty years," Dean said blandly, then swallowed. "The angels pulled me out. Cas pulled me out."

"I went to Hell for you," was all John could say. He couldn't believe it. Dean, who he'd trusted implicitly…this went way beyond disobeying orders. This meant that John's sacrifice had been for nothing, that all those years of pain and torture and hellfire, of terror and agony and hatred, had been for nothing. All because Dean hadn't been able to follow his final order. "I gave up my soul for you, boy," he added, "and you threw that away while I was still rotting down there?"

Dean did look him in the eye now. "I did it to save Sam," he said, his voice taking on a new edge. "Figured that'd mean more to you."

John snorted. "You should've found another way."

"You didn't," Dean said.

"Only because the two of you didn't have the balls to kill Yellow Eyes when you had the chance," John snapped. He remembered Dean lying on the floor, begging Sammy not to shoot. He wished as he had a thousand times before that Sam had just ended it there. "I gave you an order. You should never have let your brother die in the first place. You disobeyed me _and_ you threw away the greatest sacrifice I could have made for you, and now you're trying to tell me you're in the right?"

"I did what I had to do," Dean said.

They stared at each other. Benny's eyes traveled back and forth between them uncomfortably.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" John asked, his voice hard.

Dean's hesitation told him everything he needed to know. John let go of Dean's arms, violently enough that Dean stumbled backward a step.

"You know what, Dad?" Dean's voice still had a defiant edge, raw now with emotion, and John narrowed his eyes. "Yeah," Dean said roughly. "I let you down. I let Sam down. I let half the people I cared about die. Hell, I don't know if I've saved more people than I've hurt. I took Alastair's deal in Hell after thirty years, Dad, and tortured innocent people for ten more. I kicked off the damn apocalypse and I let Sammy trust a demon bitch who got him hooked on demon blood so he could finish it off and when I tried to have a normal life and a family I just screwed them too. Hell, one of the last things I did on Earth was play nice with the King of Hell so we could do a better job fighting the leviathans. But you know what else?" He didn't wait for John's reaction, the words rushing out like he couldn't stop. "I did the best I could with this crap sack life you forced me into. And I'm still your son so that's going to have to be damn good enough for you." By the time he was done he was out of breath, clutching his ribs with one hand. His eyes were shining.

John took a deep breath, exhaled it, and for a few seconds said nothing. He knew he would have to learn more, to unpack the rambling confession his son had just made and figure out what just what kind of a mess he'd left behind…but now, he couldn't even think of handling it. The weight of what Dean had said coupled with the allegations that somehow this was all his fault mixed together into something that was altogether too much. "It's not," he said simply and honestly. Dean looked like he'd been kicked in the stomach, but John felt too much like that himself to care. So instead he set his face and nodded to the path ahead. Suddenly he couldn't stand waiting there any longer, looking at Dean's face while the vampire stared at them both, mouth halfway open like he had something to say. "Let's find this angel," John said. "I want to get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded, swallowed, and turned away, starting slowly down the path. Benny glared at John for a few seconds before joining him, and John did the same. They would find this angel of his, John had no doubt, and he would even put up with the bloodsucker's irritatingly genteel presence until they did. What might happen next…well, he'd have to think long and hard about just how much he trusted Dean's judgment.

None of them spoke again until several hours later, when Benny stopped and sniffed the air.

"Werewolf," he said, pointed over a short ridge, and addressed Dean. "Maybe this one'll know where your angel is."

"Yeah," Dean said gruffly, meeting John's eyes for a brief second before following the vampire's gaze into the darkening woods. The flash of pain he saw there was replaced quickly by determination. "Let's go find out."

* * *

_Next up: John meets Cas!_

_Big thanks again to Becky for her awesome suggestions/edits._


	4. Chapter 4

Cas sat with his back to a thick oak, arms draped over knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes closed and his head resting back against the rough bark. Listening. In the absence of sounds from birds and bugs and animals—save for the souls of toothed and clawed creatures, which could be as deadly as their bipedal brethren and as much cause for fear—any rustling in the darkness meant only monsters. It was a mixed blessing, for in the stillness, the soft impacts of leviathans hitting the ground and taking shape could sound as loud as cannons, and Cas would know it was time to move—again.

Of course, that wasn't the only reason he waited and listened as the shadows lengthened every night. Sometimes Dean's prayers came early, and sometimes they came late, but they came without fail, loud in his mind because angel radio was as free of chatter as the forest was of birdsong. _Please, Cas, if you can hear me…_

They had changed over the months. At first, as Dean had learned to navigate Purgatory's treacherous paths, each prayer had been ragged and desperate and afraid. _Please, Cas…don't know if I'll make it another day. I need you._ As the days had turned into weeks, however, they'd grown more assured. Until one day, Dean's prayers had unexpectedly come through with the frenetic energy of hope. _Cas, if you can hear me…there's a way out, and I'm not leaving here without you. _Each night, Cas awaited the prayers with mixed trepidation and hope of his own. Dean's prayers meant that Dean was still alive. But they also meant that Dean was still in Purgatory.

He longed to answer. But he stayed away, not only because Dean was safer without him, but because he still needed to atone, and he could never do so in the human's presence. Dean had far too much faith in him and cared for him too much. Nor could he leave the drab forest behind, as Dean was so eager to do.

Tonight the prayers were late. Perhaps, Cas thought, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, the time had finally come. Dean had perished or escaped, and last night's prayer, which had been clipped and tense, though Cas did not know why, had been his last contact with his his closest (his only?) friend. The notion brought a sinking feeling in his gut and he allowed himself to indulge in the human motion of burying his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the knees of his dirty scrubs. That was when he heard his name.

It was Dean's voice, of course, and for several seconds it didn't register that the syllable had been shouted aloud, not broadcast into his mind. Rather, it had come from somewhere in the dark forest behind him.

"Cas!" Dean called again. "Cas, you here?"

"Dean," he murmured.

Cas could hear the footsteps now, crashing toward him through the undergrowth, more pairs of feet than he would have expected and slightly off course. He momentarily considered fleeing again—Dean had not seen him yet and if he left now, the human would never know how close he'd come—but as foolish as it was, he could not find the will to do so, no matter how much heartache it would likely cause both of them in the end. Cas could see Dean approaching now, flanked by two larger men, and stood with a sigh. As soon as he did Dean seemed to catch sight of him and bee-lined toward him, jogging the last several feet, one arm bracing his ribs. He looked as haggard and dirty as Cas himself, but as he closed the distance his face broke into a smile. His companions followed more slowly, and less happily.

"Cas." Slowing as he reached him, Dean looked him up and down before stepping forward, his arms rising at his sides. Cas stiffened, waiting to be pulled into an embrace he neither entirely wanted nor understood, but it never came. Instead, Dean stopped short and glanced back at the bearded, dark-haired man who was catching up to him, and let his arms fall back to his sides with a wince as the man took his place beside him.

"So this is an angel," the man said, folding his arms. Cas narrowed his eyes. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Cas was certain they had not met before.

"Cas," Dean said again, his smile fading. He shook his head as though he couldn't believe it. "Cas, finally. You feeling all right?" He made a vague gesture at Cas's head.

"I'm perfectly sane," Cas said. He supposed there was no reason Dean should take his word for it, but there were more pressing matters to address, such as how Dean had picked up two companions in Purgatory. "Who are these people?" he asked, glancing around. There were no leviathans here now but that didn't meant they weren't on their way, and if Dean had managed to track him here he was no doubt leaving more of a trail than he had meant to. "How did you find me?"

"Been looking a long time," Dean said, glancing again at the dark-haired man beside him, who was still regarding Cas with obvious skepticism. Dean took a deep breath before gesturing between Cas and the dark-haired man. "Cas, this is my father," he said. "Dad, this is Cas." He also nodded to the larger, fairer man beside him—clearly a vampire. "And this is my friend Benny."

"Hi there," Benny said.

Dean's father stared at him, eyes hard.

"Why is your father here?" Cas asked Dean, his eyes moving back and forth between the two Winchesters. Certainly, Cas could see the family resemblance, and to his angelic senses the man's true face appeared as human as Dean claimed. He wasn't even a human soul, but as alive as Dean, though Cas could not have begun to understand how or why. Still, there existed evil that even angels could not detect, and a human showing up in Purgatory where one did not belong was cause for concern in any case; few forces in the universe could drag a human across the barrier, especially when that human's soul had wasted in Hell apart from its body for a century or more. That it was John Winchester in particular—not only the original righteous man, but also the one being who had controlled Dean far better than any other before or since, better even than the forces of Heaven and Hell—well, that went far beyond concerning. "Why is he alive?"

Dean shrugged. "We don't know why." He looked at his father cautiously, as if there was something wrong between them. Cas narrowed his eyes further.

"Climbed out of Hell, started up to Heaven and got sucked back here," John said, noticing Cas's squint and raising his eyebrows as if challenging Cas to disbelieve his story.

"It doesn't matter why he's here," Dean decided, looking supplicatingly at Cas before glancing at the vampire. "We're getting out of here. Tell him, Benny."

Benny shrugged dismissively. "Portal to the other side. Good for humans, may or may not work for your high holy kind."

"It'll work," Dean said.

Cas didn't respond. He knew he would have to tell Dean, at some point, that he did not plan to come with him. But, as he had been unable to keep from revealing himself to Dean earlier, he found the words too hard to say. Dean looked too hopeful, too pleased to see him. And so, though he knew it was wrong, he kept his mouth shut.

"So why'd you bail on Dean?" Benny asked, his voice deceptively conversational.

Startled, Dean glanced at Cas, but immediately after his head turned toward his father.

A muscle moved in John's jaw. "You left him?" he snapped at Cas.

"No, Dad." Dean's eyes slid shut for a moment, though whether it was the possibility that Cas had abandoned him or the prospect of explaining it to his father that was painful, Cas was unsure. Dean swallowed and looked at his father. "We got jumped by some hairy freaks back there and got separated. That's all."

The inaccuracy of the assertion, combined with Dean's painfully unshakable faith in him, made something inside Cas twist uncomfortably. "That's not what happened," he admitted. "I ran away." His soft words made both Winchesters' heads snap toward him, and, almost imperceptibly, Benny bared his teeth.

Dean's face registered first disbelief, then hurt, then anger, while John's lips pressed together, his expression clouding.

"You did what?" Dean sounded entirely disbelieving, as though he expected Cas to reveal he had been joking, or at least that he had misspoken.

John just glared at him, hand tightening on his weapon.

"I ran away," Cas said again. "I've been tracked and hunted by leviathans since we arrived. You were safer without me." Of course, there was no way to explain his penance without admitting that he had no plans to leave Purgatory. That didn't mean, however, that he couldn't encourage them to do the right thing. "In fact, you were all safer. You should go."

"Should we now," John said threateningly.

"Yes," Cas said. As he watched John fix Dean with another shuttered stare, however, he found himself doubting his convictions for the first time in many months. When he had arrived he had believed himself past the point of doing good, and the Winchesters past the point of needing his help…but it was becoming more and more obvious not only that something strange going on, but that it was something that Dean might not be able to handle on his own. Whatever the reason John Winchester was here, Dean's feelings about his father were obviously still strong and, if the constant glances to see his father's reactions were any indication, he was still far too concerned about his father's opinion. There was no telling how compromised he would be if John was not what he said he was or if something else was using him to get at Dean.

"We're not leaving you," Dean said firmly.

"Plenty of things trying to kill us too," Benny pointed out.

Though, compared to Dean's desire for him to come and the mystery of John Winchester's presence the vampire mattered little to him, Cas disliked the way Benny seemed to hover protectively between him and Dean. There were many things about their situation that Benny didn't understand. "Things," Cas agreed. "Not leviathan."

Dean shook his head slightly, and his voice had a desperate edge. "And the difference is?"

"There is no damn difference," John said. When his harsh tone made Dean's eyes close briefly Cas had to push down another wave of uneasiness.

Dean had to understand that Cas had not left him because he did not care for him. He tried to make his voice soft, though it had been a while since he'd used it this much and the reflexive knowledge of how to relate to humans was always slow to return. "They would have killed you," he said. "I had to keep them away."

"You don't know that." Dean's voice was thick with emotion. "I prayed to you, Cas, every night."

"I heard you," Cas told him.

Dean's mouth opened but he appeared too shocked and hurt to respond.

John glared at Cas. The lines of his body were tense and the anger on his bearded face was plain, but Cas met his stare easily while Dean continued to study the ground. "I want an explanation for all of this. We've been looking for you for more than a week now. Dean's been trying for months. And your only excuse for leaving my son is that there were a few leviathans on your tail?"

"There _are many_ leviathans on my tail," Cas corrected him. Dean stared at the ground.

"So?" John's voice was scathing. "He could have gone home. He stayed and risked his life for _you_."

"Yes," Cas acknowledged.

"I want to know what you have to say for yourself."

"Dad," Dean finally cut in. "Don't. Please."

John turned on him, bristling, his anger at Cas transferring seamlessly to his son. Dean seemed to shrink under the attention. "I'm not done with you either," John snapped.

The anguish twisting Dean's face was plain. "I know," he said, and Cas wondered what he meant. It only made him more concerned about leaving Dean with his father, penance be damned. "But Cas is coming with us. He has to."

"No he doesn't," Benny cut in.

John's glance at the vampire was irritated. "No, he doesn't," he agreed.

Cas kept his expression guarded and said nothing. Though he might have insisted upon staying, a part of him was growing ever more certain that this situation needed his attention. And he wanted to see how Dean handled his father's anger.

"I'd trust him with my life, any day," Dean said, his eyes meeting Cas's fleetingly. However, his next words were supplicating. "Look, Dad, if Cas says he was trying to keep me safe, then he was trying to keep me safe. End of story."

"You don't 'keep someone safe' by leaving them alone in a world full of monsters," John scoffed.

There was a long pause. Finally, Dean swallowed. "You did."

John's eyebrows shot up. "I did what?"

"You left me," Dean said, his voice hard. He took a breath and his hand traveled protectively back to his ribs, but his face lost none of the grim determination that had come with the simple words. "You didn't tell me where you were going, you wouldn't answer my calls for weeks and when Sam and I found you-almost a _year_ later-you told us to get lost. For our _safety_."

For a moment, John looked angry, and ready to snap out a response, but then his mouth shut. After a moment he blinked, looking stricken. "...You're right."

Dean looked like he couldn't believe his ears. "I'm what?"

"You're right. I left you alone, because I wanted you safe." His expression hardened. "But I stand by it. I'm your father. This angel is..." he shook his head and shrugged, not comprehending.

"He's family," Dean said, voice breaking slightly.

Cas blinked, trying not to show how the words had touched him. After all he'd done, after all the harm he'd caused, the heartbreak and the betrayal, he did not deserve such kindness. He certainly didn't deserve such loyalty.

"He's family to you?" John echoed, clearly struggling with the weight of the simple statement. Cas knew that Winchesters did not throw that word around lightly.

John folded his arms and cast a searing look over Cas, his eyes lingering on Cas's as if he could somehow see into Cas's intentions that way.

Cas returned the gaze, wishing he could do the same. John certainly seemed to want to be a father to Dean, but that didn't mean he was. But what he had seen in the exchange had been that Dean truly believed that he was. Perhaps even John-or the creature masquerading as John-believed it too.

"Yes," Dean said roughly. "He's family."

After a long pause, John nodded slightly. Then they all looked at Cas. And Cas realized, for all he needed to atone, he needed more to be by Dean's side until they could be sure that John was, in fact, John.

"I am coming with you," he said. "It is my decision."

It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in.

"Good," Dean said shortly, then offered him a small smile. "Good. Glad to have you with us."

It took a few more seconds for John to react. "Of all the things. Never did believe in angels," he drawled. Still, his expression had softened slightly, and Cas recognized that he was, if not accepting him, then at least allowing that there was no other alternative that would not involve tearing Dean apart.

Cas nodded, accepting the truce, however temporary. If this was in fact John, they could go from here. If not...well, he would be ready to act at the first sign. Perhaps, he thought, protecting Dean could be a new kind of penance.

John smirked, and added, "And I wouldn't've pictured you."

Before Cas could respond, however, he heard a noise he recognized in an instant. _Plunkplunklunkplunk._ So instead of reminding John that what he saw was, in fact, a human vessel and not an angel's true form, he turned toward the noise and squinted into the forest. "We have to move," he said.

"What?" Dean said. "Why?"

"Leviathans," Cas answered. "_R__un_."


	5. Chapter 5

"Leviathans?" Dean barked. "Where?"

It was as if Cas's words sent an electric jolt through Dean, cutting through the swirling mess of emotion that finding Cas had set off in him. Considering how he'd already been reeling from his last conversation with his dad - _It's not _\- and the wearing silence that had followed, he hadn't had high expectations for John's meeting Cas. But what he hadn't expected at all was for finding Cas to be more painful than losing him, and for his dad's resistance to have been the least upsetting part. I prayed to you, Cas, every night. _I know_. How long would he have let Dean search? The truth was that as much as Dean wanted to trust Cas, and although he would never admit it to his dad, his faith in the angel was shaken in a way it hadn't been since Cas had sold out to Crowley more than a year before. At least then Dean had been able to understand his reasons. Now, he couldn't fathom them.

So all in all he was glad to let his instincts take over, to let the pain and confusion fade into the background as the world around him sharpened, colors brightening and sounds growing louder as his heart beat more quickly in his chest. Even the persistent ache in his side from the ribs the wendigo had cracked seemed to lessen. His hand found his weapon automatically, and he was peripherally aware of John and Benny drawing theirs beside him. Cas, however, just stood tense and still as a trapped animal.

"That way," Cas pointed. Dean swung his head around to check but all he could see was forest. "Approaching. Come on." He took a few steps forward but stopped, a spasm of frustration crossing his face, when only Dean followed. He pivoted with his jaw clenched, eyes demanding explanation.

"How many?" John asked.

"Three." Cas's tone was clipped. "We don't have time for discussion."

"Four of us," John pointed out.

Cas's eyes met Dean's pleadingly, and Dean felt something unpleasant shift in his gut. Neither John nor Cas had actually made him choose between them so far, but if he had to...he had waited too long and come too far to leave Cas. But there was no way he was losing his dad again either. Especially not while things were still so screwed up between them, too.

"Can we even run from these things?" Benny asked. "I thought they were faster than your average critter."

"They are fast." Cas's voice was grave. After a second, though, he paused, his whole expression changing, his head tilting to the side and his brows drawing together. More than anything…he looked confused.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked.

"The leviathans are leaving," Cas said after a moment. He blinked, and murmuring the next words to himself as he ran a hand across his peach fuzz of a beard. "Why are they leaving?"

"Who gives a damn?" John asked.

Quick as lightning, Cas spun to face John, then covered the few feet between them so swiftly Dean could have blinked and missed it. He caught John by surprise, slamming him back against a tree and trapping him there with a forearm to his throat. As shocked as his dad, Dean stood and stared with his mouth halfway open.

"What are you?" Cas demanded, shoving his face toward John's.

"What am I?" John sounded more surprised than angry, but that was changing fast. Dean moved toward them, hoping to somehow get in between them. He'd been so worried about what John might try to do to Cas, he hadn't bothered to worry about the reverse. On top of that the scene was uncomfortably familiar. He recalled a brutal night in a dark alley years ago and how that had been the last he'd ever underestimated the angel's strength…or his patience. Dean edged forward and only hoped his dad didn't make the same mistake.

"Leviathans don't retreat," Cas stated, his face inches from John's. His voice was cold, however, and it was clear he was taking no pleasure in threatening Dean's father, nor was there a deep sense of anger and betrayal behind his words as there been that night in the alley. He was simply pinning John as if Dean's dad was a creature that needed containing. "The only thing that doesn't belong here is you. What are you? What do you want with Dean?"

Dean froze at the sound of his name. John didn't.

Instead, his frustration at being captive seemed to bubble over and he shot out a free fist, catching Cas in the gut with a roundhouse. The angel barely moved, shoving forward as John swung a knee up toward his groin and Dean grabbed both of them by the shoulder in a vain attempt to wrench them apart as they struggled. Neither paid him any mind. John kicked at Cas's knee but Cas braced himself, bending his leg forward so the blow landed ineffectually on his outer thigh, and shoved John backward. John's head snapped back against the tree but he only grunted and twisted forward, aiming to break Cas's grip with his weight, but Cas thwarted him again, grabbing his right wrist and slamming him back against the tree with one shoulder. Dean was sure Cas could tear John apart if he tried but the angel was apparently holding back. Which was more or less what inspired Dean to try to wedge himself in the space between them get his back to his dad, and shove Cas away. Then he could figure out what the hell was going on.

What he got instead was an errant elbow to the side—impossible to say whose—that under normal circumstances might have left him a little bruised and winded, but which connected instead with his hurt ribs and turned the persistent ache into a white hot spike of agony. He let go of both his dad and Cas to clutch at his side, face scrunching against the pain. His knees hit the ground and he shouted the first words that came to him through clenched teeth.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

When he opened his eyes Benny was standing at his side, one hand on his weapon, and John and Cas had separated and were both staring down at him with mixed bewilderment and concern.

"Dean, are you okay?" John asked with a last dirty glance at Cas, stepping toward him with one hand outstretched as if he meant to help him up or rest it on his shoulder, though he never quite made it that far. Benny bristled at him.

"He's injured," Cas noted, as if John hadn't noticed. "I'm sorry, Dean, I can't heal you here."

"I'm…fine," Dean gasped automatically, then stared up at them, one hand on his side, still winded. His ribs throbbed but the blinding agony had passed. "Now will you two...just..._stop_ whatever you're doing?" he gritted, then recalled it had been Cas who'd charged his father. He straightened but remained on his knees, ignoring the pain that spasmed across his ribs, and looked up at the angel questioningly, echoing his dad's earlier question without thinking. "I mean, what the hell, Cas?"

Cas's gaze was intense, but it seemed Dean's re-injury had been enough to distract him from the task of pinioning John. "Dean, in all my time here I have never seen nor heard of leviathans retreating when their prey was so near. Nor in all the time before this."

"So?" John demanded. Wincing, he stretched the fingers of the wrist Cas had grabbed, then reached back and touched his head where the angel's brute force had slammed it into the tree. His fingers came away bloody but to Dean, who had seen his dad in all manner of pain, his grimace looked more annoyed than anything.

"Leviathans fear almost nothing," Cas told them, turning his head to gaze at each of them solemnly. He stopped when he was looking down at Dean. "If they are retreating from him, then either he is not John Winchester or there are powerful forces at work here that I do not understand. You are likely in grave danger."

John snorted. "Then we're in danger. What's new." With one last tender prod at the back of his skull, John let his hand fall and also appealed to Dean. "You know me, son. Hell, when Yellow Eyes took me you figured it out in hours, and that bastard knew me. Knew all of us. We been at this a week now. Tell him."

Dean nodded, trying to sort through the information Cas and his dad were throwing at him. Obviously, something strange was going on, but was there really a chance Dad wasn't Dad? It was true that he'd known his father well, and at one time, had probably known him better than anyone in the world. But a lot of time had passed since then, and what they'd both been through - it would have changed anyone.

Still, Dean could remember how Dad had always made him feel, desperate for approval and terrified of his rejection, but accepting it all the same as if he'd deserved it all along…and as much as he hated himself for it, this John awoke the same emotions in him. The same thrill that he was doing right when Dad smiled at him and the same sinking in his chest when Dad even looked at him wrong. No one else could cut that deeply with so much ease, or with so little apparent understanding of how much his approval meant to Dean. That had been Yellow Eyes' mistake, after all—treating Dean like a son when he should have treated him like a soldier or an incompetent child. If this wasn't Dad...it was a damn good impression.

"It's him," Dean said. John met his eyes briefly and nodded, which somehow hurt more, though of course there was no way John knew what had really tipped the scales. Dean looked back to Cas. "It's gotta be."

"Very well," Cas said. He sounded unconvinced, but Dean caught a flicker in Cas's eyes of the trust the angel had placed in him—whether rightly or wrongly—since he'd rebelled against Heaven to join Dean in fighting the good fight however many years ago. "But this is not good news."

Not wanting to have any more of this conversation from his knees, Dean began to push himself up, brushing off Benny's helping hands when the vampire tried to grab his upper arm to steady him. By the time he made it to his feet his ribs were throbbing again, and he held his arm gingerly over the ache. He didn't like how vulnerable it made him look, but he supposed by this point all of them had seen him laid bare in one way or another, so there was little point in hiding it.

"'Course it isn't," John sighed.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face, trying to make sure he understood. "You think that because my dad's got levi repellent something's protecting him."

"Exactly." Cas nodded, then regarded John, his eyes still narrowed with suspicion. "You said you've been here five years."

"That's what Dean tells me," John said, reaching up to dab at the back of his head again and wincing before adding sardonically, "Days've blurred together on my end."

"Have you encountered leviathans before?" Cas asked.

"Seen 'em, stayed away," John said. "They never came after me."

"They should have," Cas said seriously. "You are a human in a land of monsters. Without me to draw them away they should have descended upon you the minute you arrived. They'd have done so to Dean as well if I hadn't kept them one step ahead. Can you think of any reason you'd be protected?"

"Protected?" John snorted. "Look, but I've been fighting for my life since I climbed out of Hell. If I'm protected someone's doing a piss poor job of it."

"Still alive, aren't ya?" Benny asked.

"I'm alive 'cause I can fight," John said dangerously.

"Cas has a point," Dean cut in quickly. "I mean, if Cas's the only reason I haven't been dealing with leviathans solo this whole time, and those ones back there were running from you…could be you've got some anti-levi mojo you don't know about. I've seen stranger."

"So what does this mean?" John asked, directing the question at no one in particular.

"It could mean a lot of things," Cas said.

"Any of 'em not terrible?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. "It's doubful."

"Of course it is," John said again.

Cas shrugged as if to say, _what do you want me to do_, and to Dean's surprise the corner of John's mouth turned up in return.

"Well, I can think of one good thing about it," Benny said. "We got ourselves a leviathan-free path outta here. I say we take it while we can."

Dean nodded slightly at Benny. He remembered suddenly that, before any of this crap had happened, all the vampire wanted to do was to get out of here and Dean had been the key to his escape hatch. He certainly hadn't signed up for this, and it was a testament to how good a friend he'd become that he was still going along with it without protest. "We'll manage," he said.

"That's right," John said, "we'll manage."

And as they started down the path, Benny taking the lead while John, Dean, and Cas trailed behind, Dean just hoped to god it was true.


	6. Chapter 6

They traveled several miles in relative silence. As he walked, Dean couldn't help but turn over in his mind his last conversation with his father. He ached to return to it. As painful as talking more would undoubtedly be, at least then it would be over and he could accept whatever judgment Dad might pass on him and move on. Finding Cas had provided a worthwhile distraction, but he knew the strained way they'd left things had to be on his dad's mind as well. But he couldn't think of how to start it up again, especially not with Cas here now, suspicious of not only his father's identity but wary of his treatment of Dean, as well. And of course, there was plenty he wanted to ask Cas about too. He still couldn't understand why his closest friend had let him spin his wheels searching for him for nearly six months, hearing every prayer. But just as Dean dreaded engaging with John where Cas could hear, he also didn't want John seeing how much Cas's actions had shaken his faith in him. Not when Dad already doubted his judgment, and he found it hard to believe Cas could say anything that would justify his actions to Dean's satisfaction, let alone to John's.

So, unsure of what to say, Dean avoided even eye contact with the both of them, choosing instead to walk with Benny at the front of the line. He found himself grateful for the wall the vampire's presence provided between him and Dad and Cas, and the minefields that his relationships with each of them had become. Not wanting to think about it anymore, he spoke with Benny intermittently, making pointless small talk about whether it might rain and the weapons they'd picked up from defeated creatures and Benny's plans once they found the portal and made it out. He knew his dad and Cas were listening in but Benny responded easily, and as the hours passed Dean was surprised to find himself missing the days before they'd found John or Cas. Everything had been so much simpler when it had just been the two of them. Watch each other's backs. Fight creatures. Find Cas. Get the hell out of dodge.

Of course, Dean's avoiding both John and Cas only meant they couldn't easily avoid each other.

They'd hardly spoken at first, grunting single syllables at each other when necessary, but as the hours had dragged on John had edged closer and closer to the angel, his expression.

"So. Angel," John said casually to Cas eventually, holding back just long enough the angel had to catch up to him. He voice was friendly, but even so Dean stiffened and stopped in mid-sentence to Benny, not sure where this was going or if he was going to have to step in. Cas looked equally confused at being addressed. "You've known Dean a while, then?" John asked.

The angel pondered the question a moment. "I've known Dean for four years."

"Fought together, right?"

"By his side," Cas said seriously. "Yes. Many times. Your son is an impressive man."

John's voice was surprisingly warm. "Yeah. He is. They both are."

A few seconds of silence passed between them, and Dean started to feel like he could breathe again. He wondered, for a moment, if that was how his father spoke to others about him and Sam when they weren't around. People had always claimed that John bragged about his boys, how proud he was, but Dean had never believed it until now.

"Dean's mother believed in angels," John blurted. "Believed they were watching over him."

Dean glanced at him quickly before looking ahead, even more shocked than before and feeling as if he shouldn't be listening. Forget praise... Had he ever heard Dad describe his mom to someone else? He didn't think so, and he couldn't imagine why he was doing it now. Not when he wasn't even talking to Dean. He shoved down an absurd wave of jealousy, which was replaced by another, stronger one of utter confusion.

Dean could feel Cas's eyes on his back, though he didn't turn around, not sure what would happen to the moment if he did. Not sure what he wanted to happen. "She was a wise person, in that case," Cas said softly. "I'm sorry for what happened to her."

"Yeah," John had responded roughly. "So am I."

Silence fell again, and they walked on.

There were still creatures to waste, but together they dealt with almost all of them handily. Monsters rarely traveled in groups of more than two or three, and between Dean, John, Cas, and Benny, few of Purgatory's denizens had even a fighting chance. The strangest part was what happened after each skirmish—nothing. The first fight they'd had, against a the soul of a ghoul, Benny had grabbed the thing from behind and ducked while John hacked off its head. Dean had reflexively started forward with a protest before catching sight of Cas beside him and remembering that there were no questions to ask. He'd found Cas, for all the good it had done him.

They pressed on until long after the thin daylight had begun filtering through the trees, brightened, and begun to fade again. Dean was flagging. His side still hurt like a bitch, and he was finally reaching the point where it seemed like taking a short rest might be worth admitting that he needed one. But he wasn't there yet and so he gritted his teeth and trudged on, his thoughts drifting back to the days when he'd looked up to John's strength without feeling the weight of his own inadequacy. As a child he remembered wondering if maybe Dad was of a different stock, somehow stronger than regular people, able to come back to their room at dawn ripped half to shreds and still spend the day training Dean, playing with little Sammy, and doing all the mundane things life on the road with two kids required—working odd jobs, hustling, doing their laundry and cleaning the guns, shopping for food and clothes and supplies and the next school district and whatever part the Impala needed that month. Then heading out to hunt again that night. As the hours dragged by, Dean began to wonder if maybe he'd grown too judgmental of all John had done. If maybe, over the years, he'd absorbed Sam's long held sense of injustice and Bobby's growling indictment of John's parenting and hardly stopped to remember why he'd been loyal in the first place. More than anything, though, he felt weary. He needed a break.

Unfortunately, Purgatory wasn't about to give him that. He'd just slowed and started to turn around to announce his desire to stop to the rest of the group when a soft crash and a snarl sounded from somewhere amidst a dark copse of trees to their left.

"Hellhounds," Cas announced sharply after listening for a few tense seconds. "Several of them."

"Damn it," John said. He'd lifted a long stone blade off a djinn they'd killed hours before and he hefted it before looking across Benny's broad form to Dean. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dean grunted, surprised he'd noticed Dean's discomfort.

The first hellhounds sprung out in a pair. In Purgatory they were dark shaggy beasts with burning eyes, visible and no less terrifying for it. John caught the first one in mid-leap, spearing it through the throat with his blade. The second evaded Benny's swing and headed straight for Cas, while another two charged into the clearing, teeth bared. As with anytime he faced hellhounds Dean had a flash of terror and memory, of a faraway house and a battle he had been fated to lose—but he shoved it down, letting the adrenaline take over once more as he jumped toward the beast closing in on Cas, hacking at its neck with his stone cleaver. The blow glanced off the thing's thick hide, scoring a line of red but seeming to anger it more than slow it down. He ducked as it lunged toward him and evaded its teeth, but its meaty shoulder slammed into him and he lost his balance.

He hit the ground hard, willing himself to ignore the pain that exploded in his side because there were two on Dad and one on Cas. He knew he wasn't going to get to either of them in time but he shoved himself up. He had to try. Cas stumbled but before the worst could happen Benny leaped forward from somewhere behind him, beheading the huge beast before it could land a crushing bite. He didn't have time to be too grateful to the vampire for saving Cas's life, though, because ten feet away John was yelling as one hellhound jumped on his chest, knocking him on his back, and buried its teeth in his shoulder while the other circled around, effectively blocking Cas or Benny's path to the scene. His own pain forgotten, Dean surged forward, crossed ten feet of underbrush in seconds and hacked at the beast's head and back. After interminable seconds a blow broke through the vertebrae of its neck and it collapsed, falling to the side and rolling away from John. Dean stumbled back, panting and gripping his aching side. Across the clearing silence Cas drove a blade into the flank of the final hound and it whimpered, twitched, and then went still. Save for their heavy breathing, the forest was silent again.

John was looking up at Dean, his right hand pressed tightly against his left shoulder where the hellhound had dug in its teeth, blood already welling up through his fingers. "You saved me," he noted, and Dean could only nod wearily, finding it impossible to read his father's tone. "Thanks."

"'Course," Dean said simply, then crouched down to get a better look at his father's injury. His hurt ribs protested but he ignored them. John's shoulder was badly torn, bleeding and starting to bruise where the hellhound's jaw had crushed it. "Dad, that looks bad."

"I'm fine," John gritted, then started to push himself up from the ground. His face twisted in pain, and Dean froze for a moment, caught between helping him up and trying to keep him still until he could see the extent of the damage. In the end, he did what he'd always done—that is, what Dad wanted—and supported him up to a sitting position. Cas and Benny came over as he did.

"Dean, are you all right?" Cas was asking. He looked slightly worse for the wear, his coat torn and a new bruise blossoming over his cheek.

"Rough one," Benny remarked.

John stared at the vampire with ill-disguised contempt. Dean looked at him confusedly until he recalled what he'd seen from the ground during the fight. Benny had leapt to Cas's rescue rather than John's even though there had only been only one hellhound on the angel. At the time Dean had thought it made sense—Benny had been closer to Cas and it had seemed clear Cas wouldn't have made it if the vampire hadn't stepped in. From John's vantage point, though, Dean could picture a different scene. Benny had had a clear path to the both of them, and had gone to Cas—who was only facing one of the beasts—when John had been cornered and cut off by two. And, Dean realized with a sinking feeling, maybe that wasn't too far off base. He had Benny had spent months risking their lives searching for Cas, and Benny knew how much Cas meant to him. John, on the other hand, he'd known for a week, and had put up with little but glares, snide remarks and distrust.

"Dad's hurt," Dean said.

John rolled his eyes at the obvious statement.

Cas, however, looked sympathetic, crouching beside them. "I'll be able to heal you both when we get out," he said. "I'm sorry I can't do more here."

Dean met his eyes, feeling an unexpected surge of affection for the angel. "That's okay."

"How far is this portal?" John asked. His voice was tight with pain and his breathing was a little labored but, looking intently between Dean and Benny and Cas, he gave little other indication that his left shoulder was mangled and bloody. Dean shook his head slightly, impressed despite his worry. Of different stock all right.

"Where we are and pace we been going, I reckon two or three more days of marching'll get us there," Benny said, folding his arms and giving a cursory glance at the trees surrounding them. "We're close."

"Can you make it, Dad?" Dean asked.

John nodded hesitantly, flexing his shoulder slightly. Though he paled, he gave a final sharp nod when he was done. "Give this a quick patch job and I'll make it," he said, then searched Dean's face with dark eyes. "You'll be all right?" he asked, nodding at Dean's ribs.

"I'll be fine," Dean said, strangely touched. He felt almost as if the years had fallen away somehow- this was the dad he'd always looked up to, tough as nails and more determined than anyone he had ever met, but still a father enough to slow down for him. And Dean knew he wasn't just staying by Dad's side to honor memories time had twisted into something so complicated they were painful to recall. This was simple. Dad was family, and Dad needed him now. "Hold still," he said, guiding Dad's hand away from the wound. "This won't take long."

* * *

They fell into line again several minutes later, John's shoulder bandaged and his arm tied up in a sling made from Dean's button-down. Benny took the lead again and John fell in line several feet behind him, Dean keeping close to his dad though John was keeping pace, as always, without complaint. Cas brought up the rear but lingered far enough behind them that, for the first time in a long time, Dean almost felt that he and John were alone.

Maybe John felt it too, for after a while he slowed, letting Dean catch up along a wide stretch of trail so they were nearly abreast.

"Shoulder okay?" Dean asked when John turned to look at him.

"Yeah." John snorted softly, then an odd expression crossed his face, as if he'd meant to smile but it got stuck somewhere along the way. He glanced down at Dean's side, which he was still holding gingerly as he walked, then met Dean's eyes again. "Thanks for asking."

"No problem," Dean said, and wondered how to broach the subject he'd now been avoiding for days. To his surprise, John did it first.

"I think we should talk," he said softly."About everything." He watched carefully for Dean's reaction, his brows drawing together.

"You think so?" Dean couldn't help but echo.

John gave him a slightly exasperated, but fond, look. "Yeah, Dean, I do. Before we get out of this place and…" He trailed off, and took a deep breath, wincing when it pulled at his shoulder. "Ah, this hurts like a bitch. But I guess I needed a reminder."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Of what?"

John sighed. "You're my son, and you've always been there for me. No matter how wrecked you are yourself. And that will always be good enough."

"Thanks," Dean said, blinking back the swell of emotion that threatened to press forward and show his dad just how much the words really meant. He realized, as he hadn't before, just how much he'd been waiting to hear this.

"So let's do this," John said, and Dean nodded again. "I want to know what happened after I went to Hell."


	7. Chapter 7

"I want to know what happened after I went to Hell."

Finally bringing it up had been simultaneously incredibly hard and incredibly easy. John knew, of course, that he was opening a can of worms he wasn't sure he could handle, any more than he'd been able to deal with Dean's earlier confessions. He also knew he'd have to eat crow. Apologize, even. But in all honesty, he'd been bursting to do just that since his temper had cooled. Hell, he'd been so unsure of how to talk to Dean again that he was actually a little glad the hell hound torn into him. Though his shoulder throbbed viciously enough to turn his stomach, and he was far from thrilled about lacking the use of his left arm until they got out, John sensed—and more importantly, thought Dean sensed too—that they were back in what had once been familiar territory. Surviving. Needing each other.

That they lacked familiar ground at all, now, was still hard to process. John knew his temper was short under the best of circumstances, and shorter still when he was under pressure or facing the unknown…conditions that had regrettably lasted for most of his boys' childhoods. Hell, in the years after Mary died, he'd been a walking short fuse, bad news for monsters but often worse news for the people around him. He'd recognized the problems it caused while his kids were little. He'd alienated well-meaning folks like Bobby Singer, butted heads with Sam though he was the adult and should have known better, and occasionally exploded at Dean though his eldest had done nothing wrong. But then, he'd had the benefit of near-constant contact with his boys to make it up to them in other ways. And at least until Sammy had run off to school, he thought he'd done all right. His boys had turned out as happy, healthy, and devoted to family as hunters could be.

But that had been more than a hundred Hell-years ago for John, and nearly half that for Dean. Even if his boy had been totally willing to pick up where they'd left off, John would have hardly known where to start. Hell, he'd been away so long he barely remembered how to be a person, let alone a father, let alone the man Dean had once known and admired. He'd let his uncertainty and anger take over as they always did, and he'd pushed Dean even further away from anything they might have considered _familiar ground._

Now that they were on the verge of getting out of this stinking place, though, John couldn't take it longer. He wanted to fix things with Dean for the sake of fixing them, but also because soon he was going to have to face Sam again for the first time since arguing over what to do for Dean, sending Sam away, and leaving the mortal plane for what he'd thought would be eternity. If he couldn't patch things up here with Dean, the steadfast, loyal son, there wasn't a shot in hell he'd ever get back to normal with Sammy. He could still see an echo of the old Dean in his son's attempts to pacify everyone, after all, but Sam had never had even that, and if he'd grown as disillusioned of John as Dean apparently had...

"You want to talk about Hell," Dean said. His unusually tentative tone made him seem younger. "You sure?"

"It's about time," John said.

Dean nodded, then looked down to pick his way around a bush growing into the trail. "Well, I did tell you most of it," he said to the ground. "Except when Sam got stabbed in that ghost town, he died. I couldn't take him being gone so I made a deal and it all went south from there."

John inhaled slowly, dampening the reflexive feeling of injustice that came from knowing his tenure in Hell, a century of getting beaten and burned and broken and torn apart piece by piece while Alastair laughed, again and again and again and again, had all been for nothing. "Why'd you do it?"

"Seriously?" Dean sounded surprised and looked up at him, brow scrunched. "Sammy was _dead_. Why the hell d'you think I did it?"

"I'll tell you why I did," John said. It was as if some part of him thought that if Dean could understand his reasons, maybe he could understand Dean's.

Dean licked his lips. His voice was bitter. "You already told me. I was dying and you needed someone to look out for Sammy."

"No," John said, watching the surprise that flickered across Dean's face. "If you'd died, Dean, I'd've done whatever had to be done." He took a deep breath, though the movement made his shoulder throb harder. He recalled that Dean had been hurt and he'd been in a sling the last time he'd tried to have a heart-to-heart. Only this wasn't just long overdue, this was something he'd never in a million years thought he'd be in the position to tell. "Son," he said, waiting until Dean met his eyes again to go on. "Son, I sold my soul for you because everything that happened was my fault."

Dean looked doubtful and shook his head slightly. Hardly the reaction John had been expecting. John gritted his teeth, feeling his shoulder throb, and wondered if he'd misjudged the situation.

"You were possessed, Dad," Dean reminded him. "It wasn't you."

As if John hadn't known that already. As if he hadn't relived those hours a thousand times in his own mind while Alastair had peeled the skin from his body.

"That's not what I mean." John shifted his arm in his sling, grimacing more at Dean's lack of understanding than at the pain, though that was a bitch too. "I let myself get captured. I rushed into that fight because I wanted to end it once and for all but the truth is, I shouldn't've let any of it happen. I should've been looking out for you and Sam. ...I didn't go down to that basement looking to die. But my soul for your life seemed a pretty fair price. "

Dean blinked, his lips parting slightly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It tugged painfully at something in John that his eldest would find the remnants of John's guilt so surprising. "I didn't know you blamed yourself," Dean said quietly.

John nodded tightly. "Yeah," he said. "So. Why'd you do it?"

Dean glanced up the path toward the vampire, then quickly back at Cas, as if to assess whether either of them might be listening in. As far as John could tell they were out of earshot, human earshot anyway.

"Sam's been my responsibility since I was four years old," Dean said finally, in a soft, resigned tone. "Came down to it, I didn't have a choice."

"Maybe not." John sighed, then added what he was fairly sure Dean was implying. "I made you his keeper. That's on me too."

Dean shook his head wearily, glancing over to meet John's gaze for a moment. "Come on Dad. All I mean is I wasn't throwing away what you did for me. I thought…Hell, I thought it was what you'd want."

"You were wrong," John said.

He loved his sons equally, always had. But it had taken him far too long to realize he had no idea how to show it, and by then it had been too late. He'd always needed Dean too much to show him the same tenderness he'd afforded Sammy, and when it came down to it, it made perfect sense that Dean would think John would rather have Sam alive than Dean. But to make that right he'd need far more than a vague apology, and he just couldn't find the words to say.

"Guess I was," Dean said.

"It doesn't matter now," John decided gruffly, then cast about for something, anything, else to talk about. "Tell me about Hell. After you made the deal. Alastair's offer."

Dean looked surprised at the change in topic but nodded. "Sure. I took it. Thirty years in. Tortured souls for ten more." The path beneath their feet had grown rockier since they'd begun talking, and all of a sudden he found it fascinating.

John took a breath to respond, and discovered that he didn't want to talk about it any more. There were too many memories already swimming close to the surface, threatening to enclose him again—the darkness and the heat, the stench of death and fear and hopelessness, Alastair's cackle and the unremitting agony. That Dean had joined the ranks of those laughing demons tearing into him and a million other human souls…some things, there was no forgiving. He wanted to stop right there and tell him the conversation was over, but it was only willpower born of his desperation that kept him trudging along, looking straight ahead.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Dean said.

John looked at him, working to keep his own expression neutral. "It's…" It wasn't okay, but with a monumental effort he forced back a hundred years' pain and terror and rage. "It's done."

"I'm sorry," Dean said again, sounding choked. "Really. I am."

"Forget it," John said. "I mean that."

"Okay," Dean said simply.

As they walked on in silence, however, John couldn't help but feel that he'd achieved something important. If they could make it past that...then maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. He could patch things up with Dean and then with Sam and then they could go back to their lives. They could be a family again.

It was that thought that made him take as deep a breath as his shoulder would allow, smile, and say in an even tone, "So about this apocalypse..."

Dean's relief was palpable, and John could see the tension go out of his shoulders immediately. "Yeah," he said, returning John's smile faintly. "Yeah, that was something."

John nodded. "Tell me about it."

As they walked on, Dean filled him in on what he'd omitted, his and Sam's hunt for Lilith to break Dean's deal, how Dean's going to Hell had kicked off the apocalypse and Sam's final revenge on Lilith had finished it. Then there was Sam's year and a half without a soul, Cas's betrayal and the clusterfuck that followed, their alliance with the King of Hell. It was all unbelievable, and his sons had certainly made mistakes, but he'd be damned if he wasn't proud of what they'd done. He asked few questions, willing to let Dean tell the story as he chose.

The only exception was when Dean discussed his foray into family life with Lisa and Ben, because he just couldn't help himself.

"Did you like it?" he interrupted, not sure what answer he was hoping for. "You know. Playing Dad to this kid?"

Dean looked at him with hooded eyes. "I…" He sighed. "Yeah. I did. I really did."

"Would you go back?" John asked.

Dean snorted derisively and gestured around at the forest. "And drag them into this? Nah. Even if I could, Dad, I have a choice. And this life is no place for a kid."

"No, it's not," John agreed sadly.

For the most part, though, it went more smoothly than John had expected. After Hell, there was little Dean could say to shock him, and even less that could spark the bone-deep rage that still rose in him at the thought of it. He doubted some of Dean's judgments, of course, and had trouble believing what Sam had done, drinking demon's blood. But Dean insisted his little brother had done it for the right reasons, and with the possibility of their all being together again looming on the horizon, John was willing to let it slide.

The angel butted in around the time Dean brought him into the story, apparently unable to keep up the pretense of not listening in once his own reputation was at stake. But Cas had rarely pointed out anything but his own failures, when Dean tried to gloss over them. It was Dean who apparently viewed the angel through the rosy-eyed glasses of friendship, or _family_, or whatever the hell they'd had going on between them before the angel had left him here. John appreciated the angel's bluntness, at the very least, and had to grudgingly suppose that Dean hadn't totally failed in his choice of friends.

Benny was another story. He seemed friendly enough, but John knew from experience that friendliness could mask a multitude of sins. Especially when that friendliness centered on the one person he needed to get what he wanted, but failed to extend to the rest of them. He'd saved Cas but had been willing to let John die, and if it hadn't been for Dean's quick intervention John knew he'd be hell hound chow by now. He was sure that once back in the world the vampire would return to hunting humans, like any of his kind.

They kept going until the shadows tightened and lengthened again—one final push until they were free, the angel could heal Dean's side and his damn shoulder, and they could find Sam and be a family again. Cas and Benny took on most of the fighting, as both John and Dean focused more and more on putting one foot in front of the other. The agony in John's shoulder had reached a new tenor, sapping his strength and concentration and making him stumble over nothing. Though he wouldn't complain, especially not in front of the vampire, or his son for that matter, he was fairly sure he shared Dean's expression of pure relief when Benny finally halted and looked around.

"What is it?" Dean asked tiredly. "Monsters?"

"Nah," Benny drawled, a slow smile crossing his face. "Fellas, we're gettin' close."


	8. Chapter 8

The portal crackled above them, illuminating their faces in bright blue light as they stared up through the drab trees at it.

"Can't believe we made it," Dean murmured.

It had taken them another hour after Benny's announcement to find it, but the knowledge of how close they were had been enough for him to bury his pain and exhaustion one last time. After all this searching, all this time… not only was he getting out, but he was taking Cas and his dad out with him. It was more than he could have possibly hoped for.

"Been a long road," Benny remarked, giving him a little smile.

Though he saw John's face darken and Cas's, somehow, grow more stoic, Dean ignored them both and returned the smile easily. "Sure has," he agreed. Hell, he was so glad they'd made it he couldn't even care that John was still glaring at Benny like he might bust out his fangs and drain them all any second.

John's impatience seemed to reach a tipping point. "So how's this gonna work?" he cut in, making both Dean and Benny look at him. Despite his forceful tone he was pale and unsteady on his feet, more so than even an hour before, and the bandage on his shoulder was soaked with blood. Concerned, Dean edged closer to him, ready to help if whatever was keeping him upright gave out. "You said we put his soul in your arm?"

"Yeah," Dean said a little cautiously. He'd known his dad wouldn't like this, and in light of their recent armistice he didn't want to risk stirring up John's anger again unless he had to. "Portal's for humans. It's pretty simple magic. Should let me carry him out to his bones." Benny nodded in agreement.

"Right." John still sounded fundamentally skeptical about the whole process, though whether his doubt was more about whether it would work or whether it should be done at all, Dean wasn't sure. And, mostly, figured he didn't want to know. "What about the angel?" John added.

Dean glanced at Cas, who was looking up at the portal with an unreadable expression.

"That remains uncertain," Cas said blandly. "I may be trapped here forever, or destroyed."

John nodded slightly but continued looking him over, apparently thinking hard.

"What is it, Dad?" Dean asked.

"We got two humans here," John said. "Two creatures."

Dean looked between him and Cas for a moment, letting the implications of John's statement sink in. It was something he hadn't even considered, since Benny hadn't brought up the idea and Dean had assumed it must be impossible, considering the time and effort Benny had put into getting to Cas otherwise. But then, getting Cas out had never been Benny's goal as much as it had been Dean's, and if it hadn't occurred to him either…maybe it was a possibility. Still, his dad was the last person he'd ever have expected to suggest something to not only save a creature's life, but to bring him out to the world of humans. There had to be a catch. Yet John was returning his gaze earnestly.

"Would that work?" Dean asked Cas.

Cas looked uncomfortable. "Probably not."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Cas had ignored his prayers—his promise of a way out—for months. What if he didn't want to go at all? It was something else Dean would never have considered, but Cas's actions had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. "Probably not as in you're not sure, or probably not as in you don't even want to try it?"

Cas's expression remained stony, but Dean thought he could detect a hint of sadness in his voice. "I don't know, Dean. Vampires were human once. I am not. To hold this much energy within you…it would be like when I attempted to contain the leviathans. It might not end well and there's still no assurance you could take me through the portal."

Though the memories that brought up were far from good ones, Dean couldn't help but press, "Yeah, Cas, but they were a big gooey mess of evil. You're not gonna hurt us."

"I wouldn't do so intentionally," Cas allowed, his eyes closing momentarily before he met Dean's eyes again. "It would require a different spell. There is a chance that it would kill whoever contained me."

"But it might get you through," Dean said.

Cas hesitated long enough to tell him the answer.

"I'll do it," Dean said.

"Hold up," Benny said, raising his hands when they all looked at him. "As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm about hot wings, here, I still need a ride out my own self." His glance at John told him he didn't expect to find it there.

"I'll take the angel," John offered.

Dean stared at him disbelievingly. "_You're_ volunteering for this?" There definitely had to be a catch, he just couldn't see what it was.

"I just want to get home," John said. He sounded so weary and pained that Dean wondered if that was all this was—coupled with his hatred for Benny, offering to get Cas out actually made sense. "Arm's useless. Not like renting out space to him is going to make a whole lot of difference."

Cas squinted at him for a few moments, apparently as shocked as Dean had been. "You don't understand what you're offering," he decided. "In any case, you're too weak. It would have to be Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Like I said I'm in." He looked pleadingly between his dad and Benny. "Come on Dad. It would just be until we got to his bones."

John gritted his teeth, and Dean could practically see the gears turning over in his mind.

"Please," he tried.

Amazingly, it worked. "Fine," John said sharply, though it was clear he wasn't happy about it. "The vampire rides with me."

"This will be very dangerous," Cas warned again, but Dean ignored him.

"Great," he said. "Let's get started."

* * *

"Guess this is it for now," Benny said to Dean as John sat on a nearby stump and eased his arm out of the sling with a grimace. Dean had offered to help but he'd pushed him away, and so Dean had taken the opportunity to say his temporary goodbye to Benny. The vampire's arm was already dripping blood.

"Yeah," Dean said, feeling a strange warmth for the vampire. "You know I just wanted to say—thanks for everything." When Benny made a dismissive noise, he lowered his voice and glanced at John again, determined not to let Benny's efforts go uncelebrated. "I mean it. You put up with a lot of trouble to get us all here."

Benny's mouth quirked into a smile. "What can I say? I like you Dean." He looked at Cas, who was studiously ignoring them, then at John, who was drawing Dean's knife across his forearm. "Anyway, the angel's all right and nobody chooses their daddy. No other way it coulda gone."

At that, Dean couldn't help but clap him on the shoulder and grip it tightly, returning the smile. Of course there were other ways it could have gone, and he had never in his life been so glad for Benny's steady presence. "Nah," he laughed, then let his hand drop. "That's bullshit and you know it."

They were interrupted by John, who stood shakily and cleared his throat loudly. He held his bad arm up in his good hand, slice clearly visible and beading blood. "Ready?"

Benny rolled his eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be," he said, then nodded to Dean. "See you on the other side, brother." Then he faced John, clasping John's arm in his. John hissed and stiffened as his shoulder pulled but started chanting the Latin of the incantation, and moments later, Benny was gone.

"You okay?" Dean asked immediately, moving to John's side.

John was hugging his arm, his teeth clenched, but he nodded. "Bastard's inside me now, isn't he."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean said, not bothering to respond to the slur on Benny's character. "Cas? You ready?"

Cas stepped forward, looking concerned. "You don't have to do this, Dean."

Dean sighed. "I know that. We're doing it." Before Cas could protest further, he took his knife from John and drew it across his forearm with a wince. He handed it to Cas. "Your turn."

Cas took the knife, still hesitant. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Dean insisted. "Now come on. We don't got all day."

Cas nodded slowly, drew the knife across his arm, then gave it back to John who was waiting with his good hand out. "Repeat after me," he said, then held his arm out for Dean to grasp. Dean took it, acutely aware for some reason that this was the first time they'd touched—his foolish attempt to get between Cas and John earlier notwithstanding—since arriving in Purgatory. As their blood mingled, Cas began chanting in Latin, Dean repeating the words as best he could until with a flash of blinding blue light Cas disappeared into the cut and and pain like he hadn't remembered he could feel seared through his arm and chest and head and limbs until his vision went white.

He dropped his knees then fell forward, barely aware he had been screaming until what had to be millennia later, when the agony had receded enough that he could feel his dad's hand on his back and hear him chanting, "Dean. Dean, you with me? Dean. Come on buddy…"

"Guh." The noise he made wasn't exactly what he'd been intending, but he took a deep breath and tried again. "'Mokay." His arm burned like something incredibly cold had gone through it but the pain was thankfully still fading. The exposed skin glowed whitish-blue.

"Dean, we have to move," John said, trying to hook his good hand under Dean's arm and pull him up. "The portal. It's closing."

That was enough to grab Dean's attention and he followed John's gaze. Sure enough it was warping, starting to pull closed. "Right," he gasped, pushing himself up. His ribs complained along with his arm but he ignored them both. "We got Cas and Benny. Let's move."

He made it to his feet, leaning on John until he realized his dad less steady he was, then wrapped an arm around his waist and hoped strength of will would get them both there. The short hike up the hill to the portal felt like a climb up Mount Everest but they made it in time, the portal undulating but still open.

"You first," he yelled over the roar, shoving Dad through in case he and Cas couldn't make it out after all.

John stumbled through easily then extended his good arm to help Dean. Dean took it and with a last glance at the glowing blue skin on his forearm stepped through. As soon as he crossed the barrier the agony spiked again and he collapsed on the other side, screaming hoarsely. But as the pain started to recede he couldn't help a thrill of excitement, because they'd made it. Him and Dad and Cas and Benny—

Only Dad was still standing by the rapidly shrinking portal, his face twisted with indecision and as Dean watched, he thrust his bad arm back through the portal and sliced across the spot where he'd taken Benny in. Dean watched in horror as the orange light that the vampire had become flowed out, spilling onto the ground behind the portal until it closed with a _shoop_ and John stumbled back, yanking his arm with him.

"It was the right thing to do," he told Dean, who could only stare up at him in disbelief and horror. "He was a monster. That's where he belongs. I'm sorry."

Dean felt his mouth open but closed it, because there were no words to express the rage welling up in him. Instead he got to his feet slowly, still working through just what had happened. Dad had lied. Dad had promised to take his friend out of Purgatory's wasteland and then left him there. Then had the gall to apologize as if this was the kind of betrayal that could be fixed with _sorry_.

"I'm sorry, Dean," John said again, and Dean realized just how absurd it was that he'd fallen so easily into worrying what his dad thought about him when Sam and Bobby and everyone else had been right all along.

So instead of responding to the apology he simply stood facing John, let his anger reach its boiling point, then made a fist and slammed it as hard as he could into his dad's face.

* * *

_So I know I played a little fast and loose with the Purgatory canon, but I hope it was worth it for the sake of the story. As always, I would love to know what you think!_


	9. Chapter 9

John hit the ground hard, biting back a cry of pain when he reflexively threw out both hands to break his fall and caught too much weight on his torn shoulder. His lip was split where Dean had hit him and he looked more surprised than anything. Dean stood over him, shaky with anger, refusing to be moved by the pathetic picture of his father on his knees, bloody and bruised, clutching his arm to his chest and staring up at Dean with mixed confusion and betrayal as if, well, as if Dean had just punched him hard enough to send him to the ground.

"Dean," John tried again, his eyes closing with emotion or the effort of forcing the words out or maybe both.

"No, Dad." He wasn't going to let him finish. Dean had had enough of this, enough of letting his dad walk all over him and make decisions without him with no regard for what Dean thought or wanted or felt. He let the anger carry over into his words, his voice rough and heavy. "No. You do not get to tell me that that was the right thing to do or for my own good or whatever the hell excuse you had. I gave Benny my word I would get him out of there. Damn it Dad, Benny was my _friend_." He was panting by the time he stopped, his ribs aching, and had to reign in the urge to punch John again or grab him and shake him and throw him to the ground.

John straightened up slightly, wincing but watching Dean carefully. "I know he was your friend."

"Okay," Dean snarled through clenched teeth. "Great. That's not better."

"He was a vampire," John insisted, his voice still infuriatingly calm, as if Dean's outburst was a tantrum not worth responding to. "He couldn't be trusted."

Dean stared at him, disbelieving. "It wasn't your call to make."

"Bastard was in my arm," John said. "I think it was."

"You were going to take Cas," Dean realized, horrified. Of course there had been a catch. Dad didn't play nice with creatures, end of story. "Was that the plan all along? Dump Cas back in Purgatory then, what, gank Benny the second we got out?"

"No," John said forcefully, then gritted his teeth and started climbing to his feet so they were eye to eye again. Dean watched him struggle but didn't help him up. "No, Dean, that wasn't the plan. But once the vampire was in me, I couldn't do it. Knew I couldn't rest knowing I'd brought one more of his kind down on humanity."

"Benny gets his blood from the friggin' Red Cross," Dean snapped. "What exactly did you think you were bringing down on us?"

"That's what he told you," John snapped, finally incensed. "He was obviously using you to get out."

"I trusted him," Dean gritted.

John met his gaze, and his voice was hard. "I didn't." For a moment they just stared at each other. "Are you going to hit me again?"

"Am I…" Dean turned away suddenly, breathing hard, needing just a little space from this. When he turned back around again John was still watching him, gimp arm clutched to his chest. "Dad, if you had done that to Cas…" he trailed off, not even sure what would have happened. Anyone else, he might've killed right there. But Dad?

"I wasn't going to leave Cas," John insisted. "You said he's family. I respect that."

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. His forearm was still glowing slightly where Cas had gone in. "This isn't over," he warned.

He could see John's fingers tighten around the bicep of his bad arm. "Didn't think it was."

"How could you…" Dean started, then snapped his mouth shut. Truth was, he knew exactly what John had been thinking. Benny, vampire. Vampire, monster. Monster, bad. It was exactly how Dean might've reacted years ago—hell, how he _had_ reacted years ago, along with Dad's old buddy Gordon, until Sam had set him straight—to learning that between good and evil there were shades of, well, not-so-good, and not-so-evil. The world his dad had left behind had been far more black-and-white than the one he and Sam had discovered over the years. And he didn't doubt that John thought he'd done the right thing.

"I'm sorry, Dean," John said again, and he truly sounded it.

Dean set his jaw. "I'm letting Cas out," he said tightly. "If you try _anything_…" he let the threat hang, still not sure what he would do.

"I won't," John promised.

Dean didn't find it particularly comforting. He remembered how once upon a time he'd trusted his father implicitly, following every order without question. Now, he couldn't fathom it. Still, he had nothing left to say to John that wouldn't involve probably punching him again, and the skin on his arm was starting to pulse, as if impatient. "Gimme the knife," he growled.

His dad handed it to him without protest. It was still slick with blood and Dean forced back another wave of anger, drawing it across his own forearm instead. The agony that ripped through his arm as the white-blue light flowed out sent him to his knees clutching at it, again, and he yelled as his vision went white. He was gasping by the time it cleared. John had put a hand on his shoulder again but he shrugged it off violently, looking around for Cas.

He could have melted with relief when he saw Cas standing to the side, blinking slowly as if he wasn't quite sure where he was or what had happened. Without thinking Dean pushed himself to his feet, covered the distance between them in a stride and wrapped his arms around Cas in a tight embrace, burying his chin in Cas's shoulder.

Cas stood stiffly, obviously confused. "Dean?"

Dean let him go, stepping back. "Cas," he said. "You made it."

Cas looked around with narrowed eyes, his gaze stopping on John for a few seconds before returning to Dean. "I did. Why isn't Benny here?"

"Because I left him in Purgatory," John said before Dean could even think of how to put his father's betrayal in words. "I didn't trust him. It's done."

Cas's eyes widened slightly, and he turned to Dean. "Did you know about this?"

Dean let out a breath. "Of course I didn't friggin' know about this," he said. "Hell, I'm just glad he didn't do it to you."

Cas did look alarmed now, backing a step away from John though it was clear he posed no threat. "Did he intend to?"

"No," John snapped, sounding annoyed. His lip was beginning to swell where Dean had hit him. "No, I didn't. I didn't believe in angels until a few weeks ago. But I know vampires. Last hunt me and Dean went on, we nearly got wasted by a nest of 'em. They almost killed Sam."

"And Benny has saved my life more times than I can count," Dean argued. "Saved Cas's too."

"Not mine," John said.

"Because you treated him like a monster the whole damn time!" Dean could feel his fists balling again, and he took several breaths, as deeply as he could though pain from his ribs wrapped around his chest with each one.

"He is a monster," John insisted through gritted teeth. "I did what's best for all of us."

"All of us _except Benny_."

"Hey!" Cas cut in loudly before John could retort. "Can this wait?"

"Not if Dean wants to do this right here," John said, squaring to face him again.

Dean snorted. "What, you want to fight me?"

"Dean!" Cas said again, more forcefully, moving to stand between them but addressing Dean. "This is pointless. Benny is gone."

Benny was gone. It wasn't that he hadn't known it but hearing it aloud, and from Cas no less, made it that much more real. And with that his desire to hurt John again fled, replaced by a hollow feeling of loss, one he knew far too well, that sucked at his gut and made him tired. He was pissed, of course, but Dad had left Benny behind and now there was nothing Dean could do to bring him back. All the exhaustion and pain of the last few weeks—hell, of the last six months—flooded back to him and he swayed suddenly, putting a palm to his aching forehead. "I know he's gone," he muttered.

John just watched him, his brows drawn together and his mouth a tight line.

He was aware of Cas sighing beside him. A touch to his cheek later and the pain dissipated, his ribs as whole and strong as they'd ever been, though he still wanted to lie down and not get up for at least a month. He straightened up, testing his limbs and finding them pain-free, as Cas approached John.

"I'm going to heal you now," he told him.

John looked skeptical but nodded slightly. "Bout damn time."

Cas touched his forehead in response, and a moment later John was rolling his repaired shoulder, looking profoundly relieved if a little suspicious. "Thanks," he said cautiously.

"We need to decide what to do next," Cas said, ignoring John's gratitude to glance around at the thick woods around them. Hardly the change of scenery Dean had been hoping for, now that he thought about it. "I don't know where we are right now."

Dean and John exchanged glances, their fight not forgotten but taking the backseat to the one desire they knew they both shared. "We find Sam," Dean said without hesitation.

"Of course," Cas said. "Well. As you know his warding precludes me from locating him directly, but I should be able to locate the Impala. I don't expect to be gone long." He looked back and forth between them. "Please don't kill each other." And with that, he was gone.

John stared at the spot where Cas had just been. "They can do that?" he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah. They can."

* * *

After a few minutes passed, Dean and John took seats at the foot of a thick tree to await Cas's return.

"I'm still pissed," Dean told him, but couldn't quite muster the fury he'd felt earlier. But then he'd never been able to maintain that level of anger at Dad, no matter what he'd done. Trusting him again…well, that was another story.

"I know." John shrugged. "But you have to understand why I did it."

As much as Dean wanted to say that no, that it was as unfathomable as it was unforgivable, another flash of memory—of a motel room not that long ago, and Amy's surprise when he'd plunged the knife into her stomach—returned to remind him that he had once done the exact same thing to someone Sam cared about, because she was a monster who had killed before and might kill again. The realization drained him, because he was no longer sure whether he was in the right. Whether he'd killed Amy because it was the right thing to do or as a last twisted echo of his father's legacy, and whether those things one and the same. Sam had been pissed at him then, too, as pissed as Dean was at his dad now. He put his face in his hands again, hating to doubt himself when righteous anger was so much easier. When he raised his head again John was studying him. "Yeah, Dad," he said slowly. "I understand."

"Good," John said.

They sat quietly, Dean feeling adrift in a sea of doubt, loss, and self-loathing. Boy was it good to be home.

John broke the silence after a few minutes had slid by. "The Impala. She still running good?"

Dean looked at him cautiously, not sure if John was making an honest attempt at conversation or if this was going to be a trap for him somehow. "Yeah," he said. "Least, she was when I left. Sam coulda douched her up again for all I know."

John's eyebrows rose. "'Douched her up'?"

Dean let out a short laugh. "After I went to Hell he put in one of those iPod things. Disgraceful."

A slow smile crossed John's face. "Yeah, Dean," he said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "That's terrible."

A flap of wings announced Cas's return. Dean looked up to see him standing there, now clean-shaven and crisp in a new trench coat, suit and tie that was somehow still not done quite right. "I found him," he said by way of greeting.

Dean and John were on their feet immediately. "Where?" Dean barked.

Cas studied them for a moment, as if to ascertain whether they were likely to start fighting again. Satisfied they weren't, at least for the moment, he answered, "The car is at a motel in Texas. I assume Sam is there as well."

"Probably," Dean agreed.

"Still fighting the good fight, then," John said quietly, as if to himself, sounding once again like he wasn't sure whether he was glad Sam had never gotten away. Dean remembered suddenly it wasn't just Hell and five years in Purgatory that separated John from Sam—they'd hardly spent three days together since Sam had gone to Stanford so many years ago. Hell, not since Sam had been a skinny, dorky little high school kid. Well, Dad would be in for a surprise.

"Right," Dean said dismissively, still too upset acknowledge that Sam continuing to follow the path John had set out for them was either a good thing or—given what John had done to Benny—anything resembling what he would call "the good fight." But he bit back a more scathing response because right now, it didn't matter. After six months of fighting his way through the dank, stinking forests of Purgatory, he'd finally, _finally_ made it home and his brother was only an angel flight away. He smiled at Cas. "Let's drop by."


	10. Chapter 10

They were going to see Sam. The idea terrified John as much as it excited him. Once upon a time, he'd've thought his and Dean's relationship was rock solid. John had never trusted, or needed, anyone in his life so much as he had Dean, for a time. Not even Mary. But-as the raw memory of Dean's knuckles cracking against his jaw continued to remind him-coming back to Dean had been far harder than he'd ever imagined it could be. Coming back to Sam, who had never been so close, nor so forgiving... he could feel his heart pounding at the thought of it.

"Let's go to Texas," John said.

"Very well," Cas reached out with both hands to place two fingers against John's and Dean's foreheads.

And then the scenery changed.

"Whoa!" John said without meaning to, reaching out to grab at something—anything—to steady himself but finding nothing. They were in the parking lot of a nondescript motel, everything illuminated by the glow of floodlights and the flickering neon of a VACANCY sign. It was the first artificial light John had seen in a hundred years and he felt naked, abruptly aware he was dirty and scarred and hadn't shaved in far too long. (What would Sam think of him?) The place looked like a hundred other crappy motels he'd brought the boys to over the years, from the cracked siding, the fading paint, the stained plastic chairs sitting outside each door…but something about the familiarity was utterly overwhelming and for a little while John could only stare.

"You know which room is his?" Dean asked Cas easily. John felt an odd surge of jealously that Dean had taken the transition so well.

"No," Cas answered. "I returned to you as soon as I found the Impala."

Together, John and Dean followed his gaze to the car, the back end barely visible behind a large SUV parked in front of a nearer door.

Dean beelined to it.

"Oh, baby," he murmured, looking it over, peering in the window, stroking it a little. It was more affection that John had seen Dean have for anything in a long time and under different circumstances it might've made him smile. Instead he only followed cautiously, trailed by Cas, and folded his arms.

"Looks like Sam's been taking good care of her," John remarked. "No rust."

"Yeah, and no iPod thing," Dean agreed, seeming to forget his anger for a moment before setting his jaw again. John set his own jaw and tried not to show how much the rejection stung.

Cas's eyes narrowed, and John could practically see him working through the significance of "no iPod thing."

He turned his attention to the motel window nearest the Impala. The lot was far from full so he figured it was Sam's. "Gotta be this one, right?" He stepped up to peer into the darkness as well as he could past the drawn curtain, though it was too dark in the room to make anything out. Dean joined him a moment later to do the same.

"I should go in first," Dean decided, still squinting into the darkness.

John fixed him with a suspicious stare. "Why?"

"I been missing six months. You been dead six years," Dean said with a shrug. "Someone should explain this to him, otherwise, hell, he'll probably start firing."

John thought a moment. Meeting Dean in Purgatory had been shocking, certainly, but in Purgatory it had been easy to grow immune to the shock of…anything really. Here, in the mundane world of a motel with lights and cars and people, he knew his presence made less sense. And he could only imagine how he might've reacted to the sight of a long-dead family member showing up at his doorstep in the middle of the night in his hunting days.

"Fair enough," he said after a moment, squinting at Dean in the pale light. It was reasonable…and yet he had a feeling that that wasn't quite the full reason Dean didn't want him there. "I'll wait out here. But not longer than I have to, hear?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said, his voice thick with irony. Then his tone softened. "I'll come get you as soon as he calms down."

Feeling vaguely queasy, John stepped back to wait with Cas against the side of the Impala. The strength of it behind him was familiar and comforting and brought back memories of better days and he let himself get lost in them for a short time. Driving Mary outside of the town limits for picnics. The morning they drove Dean home from the hospital, a fragile little bundle of potential. Strapping the kids into car seats, hearing their little voices laughing or bickering in the backseat. Dean bribing Sammy with sweets to pretend he was as excited as Dean about picking up the hood and learning how she worked. Finally handing the keys to Dean on his 18th birthday and watching him light up like all his dreams had come true at once.

Feeling slightly more grounded, John watched as Dean inspected the door for a moment, raised his hand as if considering knocking, then pulled a battered lock-picking kit out of his jacket pocket and started on the door. A few seconds later there was an audible _snick_ and the cracked open. Dean went in, closing it behind him.

John was expecting the surprised, masculine yell followed by the muffled sound of a quick scuffle. What he wasn't expecting to hear was the high-pitched scream of surprise that accompanied it, nor the frenzied flurry of talk that followed. He leaned in, trying to make out words though the door, but all he could tell was that Dean was talking, and Sam was talking, and the woman kept talking as well.

"Sam is not alone," Cas observed.

"No shit." John gave him a quick glance before turning his attention fully back to the motel room door. He didn't like being marooned out here.

Cas tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes at the continued noise coming from the room. "This is unusual."

"Is it now," John said, chewing the inside of his cheek. It couldn't have been more than a minute or two since Dean had gone in, but the voices had quieted slightly. He could barely remember why he'd agreed to wait out here, when his boy, his Sammy, was on the other side of that door. Did it really matter what Dean wanted?

"Yes," Cas answered. "Sam rarely seeks out female companionship." He shrugged, slightly. "Perhaps things have changed since Dean has been gone."

John snorted softly. "Sure as hell've changed since I've been gone."

The door opened.

John was propelling himself away from the car in an instant, toward Dean and the tall near-stranger behind him.

"Sam?"

His little Sammy filled the entire doorway, his face now angular and long, hair hanging nearly down to his shoulders. But his expression, flickering between confusion and disbelief and joy—that was all Sam. Without thinking John strode forward past Dean and gripped Sam by the biceps, drawing him into a hug when he received no resistance. He was vaguely aware of Dean watching them with a betrayed expression, and realized that despite everything he hadn't yet pulled his eldest into a similar embrace…but here in the normality of a Texas motel parking lot he felt stripped of too many defenses to care. He let go of Sam to lean back and look at him again.

Sam was blinking at him in disbelief. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me," John said, wanting to smile and cry at the same time. "Were you always this damn tall?"

"It's Dad," Sam said to Dean over John's shoulder. "You were…it's really him."

"Near as we can figure," Dean said easily. He'd folded his arms and was pointedly not looking at John.

John ignored the stab of regret in his gut and refocused his attention on Sam. "It's good to see you, son."

"You really just showed up in…Purgatory, of all places, and you don't know how?"

John shrugged. "Pretty much."

"He appears to be human. He may still be a form of evil I can't detect," Cas added from back near the car. Sam gave him a little wave, still clearly dumbfounded.

"Of, of course," Sam said, looking back and forth between all of them. "Well. I guess we, uh, we have some catching up to do."

* * *

Sam took one of the chairs the motel provided along with the little table, while Dean perched on the edge of the bed looking as tense as humanly possible, and John stood with his arms folded. Cas was also standing, his arms at his sides, but he seemed removed somehow from the human drama in a way John found himself envying. The girl—Amelia—had gone back to her own room with a promise from Sam that he would explain all this...later. Though how he was going to manage explaining any of this to someone with no knowledge of the life when John couldn't understand it himself, he couldn't fathom.

"So let me get this straight," Sam said, quietly. "Dean, you went to Purgatory. Dad, you were already in Purgatory. And you met and then you found Cas and now you're here."

"…More or less," Dean said. He hadn't brought up Benny yet, it seemed, and John was happy to leave it that way.

"I got a lot of questions, dude."

"Yeah, well, so do we," Dean said sharply. He'd set his blade down on the bed beside him and glanced at it before addressing Sam again. "Six months I been gone. You've been, what? Banging that girl?" He gave Sam a disgusted look. "You didn't look for me. You haven't even been trying."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his long hair. "I told you. I didn't know where to start." He made a helpless movement. "I didn't know you were in Purgatory and it wasn't like there was anyone I could call."

"So?" Dean said.

John frowned as he processed what had happened. It had been one thing when Dean's angel had stayed away to keep him safe. But hearing this from Sam, of all people, simply rankled. "Dean's right. That's no excuse."

Sam's eyebrows went up while Dean's furrowed, but neither looked happy with him.

"I'm sorry?" Sam said.

John drew himself up taller. "Not knowing is no excuse," he repeated. "After Mary died, I didn't know about any of this. Forget demons—I didn't know anything went bump in the night. Didn't stop me from doing what I had to to find out. You should've looked for your brother."

"I thought he was _dead,_" Sam pointed out. "I thought I knew what'd killed him and that thing was dead too. There was no reason for me to have looked."

"There wasn't a body," Dean pointed out.

"No. There wasn't," Sam said. "But it's not like there has to be. I just...I wanted to grieve, and move on."

"You wanted to _move on_?" John echoed. A faraway part of him recognized that he was doing exactly what he always did, responding with undeserved anger to the stress and uncertainty of a new situation-and that his anxiety about reuniting with Sam was the very thing that was making him lash out. But on the other hand, Sam had failed to do the one thing he'd preached to his boys their entire lives: look out for your brother.

"Yeah," Sam said curtly. "And I did."

"What about Kevin?" Dean asked.

"Crowley took him," Sam said quietly. "That's all I know."

"Not good enough," Dean said.

"No," John agreed, though Dean looked less than thrilled about having John's support. "It's not good enough at all."


	11. Chapter 11

Dean had always hated arguing with Sam. Growing up, he'd made sure either to take Sam's side or stay carefully neutral when Sam and his dad fought. Being angry at him felt wrong, always had. But on top of Cas's letting him search fruitlessly for months in Purgatory and what John blatant betrayal of Dean's trust, learning that Sammy hadn't even bothered to look to save him from months of fear and pain and horror was more than he could take.

"Right," Sam said derisively, glaring between Dean and John—whose help Dean decidedly did not want. "And what was I supposed to have done? Stormed Hell or wherever he's keeping the kid on my own?"

"Shoulda done something," Dean growled. "Could've at least summoned Crowley. Talked to him. Figured something out."

"Yeah, 'cause working with demons always goes so well for us," Sam said scathingly.

Dean glared at him, refusing to back down. He had lost too much tonight, and worse, Sam had no idea. As much as he wanted to tell Sam what Dad had done, a part of him knew that Sam would never understand what losing Benny had meant to him. Even if he had been looking for a heart to heart, which he definitely wasn't, Sam wasn't the one he wanted to talk to. Especially not now that Dean knew he hadn't even looked for him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch someone…again.

"Look," Sam said carefully, addressing Dean and John, "I'm glad to have both of you here. I really am. But you have to back off on this. Dad, you don't know what it was like for me. Dean, I had every reason to think you were in Heaven. End of story. I moved on."

"Damn it, Sam," Dean muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face. If he was going to be totally honest with himself, he believed Sam. His little brother had never rested when he'd been afraid for Dean's soul, and why should now be any different? If Sam had let him go, Sam had believed he was in a better place. He couldn't fault him for that. Not really. It his dad who had actually betrayed his trust, and who he still wanted to throw down so he could hit him again and again.

"Dean was in Purgatory," John argued doggedly, not picking up on Dean's change of heart. Dean felt another surge of annoyance that John was butting in at all. "He wasn't dead."

Sam sighed gustily, clearly not wanting to engage with him but something not quite willing to let it go either. "You weren't there, Dad. You don't know what my life has been like and you of all people have no right to judge me for wanting a normal life."

"I have no right?"

"Yeah, Dad, you—"

They were interrupted by Cas clearing his throat loudly—so loudly, in fact, Dean narrowed his eyes at him, a little suspicious.

"I'm going to leave," Cas announced, making John and Sam swivel round to stare at him as if they'd forgotten he was there. John looked annoyed at their being cut off, while Sam huffed slightly. Their expressions were actually so similar that for an absurd moment Dean wanted to laugh.

"Go where?" Dean asked, feeling a tug of betrayal that Cas was leaving him, again.

"I don't know," Cas said, glancing at each of their faces before focusing on Dean. "However, I sense these are family matters you need to work out among yourselves."

"Leaving again?" Dean asked tightly. "Hope you're not planning on running again."

Cas's eyes widened slightly. "No, Dean. Of course not."

"You know what, Cas?" Sam said, standing up abruptly. "Don't worry about it. I should…I've got a lot of explaining to do. Might as well get started."

Dean had to admit that maybe a break do them all some good. He sure as hell was tired and had a feeling that John, too, would be less confrontational after a good night's sleep. It occurred to him that if breaking up the argument had been Cas's plan, he'd pulled it off impressively.

And so Dean managed half a smile and asked Sam in a conversational tone, "Stayin' in the chick's room tonight?"

"You guys can have this one," Sam said, nodding. "There's some food in the cabinets, soap in the shower, whatever you need. Go for it. I'll just be a few doors down." He looked at Dean searchingly, as if waiting for his permission.

Dean managed a smile. "Guess I could use a shower and some shut eye," he allowed, hoping Sam could read the truce in his tone, then glanced at John. "Guess we both could."

After a moment's hesitation, John took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good," Sam said, "And seriously, enjoy that shower." He returned Dean's smile and Dean drank it in, glad for some normality, and more than grateful that Sam seemed to be accepting the ceasefire at least for now.

"We still gotta find Kevin," Dean reminded him as he stood and started to turn toward the door. "He was our responsibility."

"I know," Sam said, glancing at John—who'd been watching the exchange with a guarded expression—before agreeing, "We'll get started tomorrow. Get some rest."

As he turned to go again, John spoke up. "Hey," he grunted.

Sam looked at him uncertainly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," John said.

Sam's jaw tightened and brows drew together as he tried to read John's tone. "Yeah," he said cautiously, with a quick glance at Dean, who shrugged a shoulder. "See you both tomorrow."

* * *

"No salt lines," John remarked as Sam left and shut the door behind him. Dean let out a breath, rolling his neck and refusing to take the bait. "Really has left the life."

"Drop it," he said, casting around. He saw where Sam had packed his clothes into a dresser provided by the motel and opened a drawer to pull out a shirt and pair of pants. Sam's stuff would look ridiculous on him, of course, but his were caked in six months' worth of Purgatory mud and he figured hitting up the Salvation Army for new jeans would have to wait until tomorrow. He headed into the bathroom, and closed the door.

He hadn't been alone in a long time, since before Benny had found him, and it hit him suddenly. His first weeks in Purgatory he'd been on high alert every moment, afraid to stop moving or sleep or rest or think. Then Benny had come along and he'd had someone to watch his back, someone to fend off the darkness and despair of the night. Only now Benny was gone. Dean took a deep breath through his nose, setting the clothes down on the counter a little more firmly than was strictly necessary.

More grime than he'd thought possible ran off him as he showered. To his surprise he heard voices, muffled by the closed door and the sound of the water. He easily recognized his dad's low tone and Cas's measured responses and wondered what they were talking about. Curious, he toweled off quickly and pulled on Sam's gigantor clothes. The shirt was about three sizes too big and he had to cuff the pants—hardly his best look—but by the time he opened the door the room was quiet again.

What he found was John sitting alone on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and forehead resting in his hands. He looked sad and pensive, though he glanced up at the sound of the door opening and rearranged his features into their usual grim expression as soon as Dean was in full view.

"Hey," he said. It seemed his anger had faded and now he simply sounded exhausted. Dean knew the feeling, though he didn't relish the idea of spending more quality time with his dad just yet.

"Where's Cas?" he asked.

"Said he was going outside," John said, dropping his hands and straightening up. "You done in there?"

"All yours."

"...Thanks," John said hesitantly, as if there was something else he wanted to add. But nothing came.

Instead John stood stiffly, rubbing his forehead, then followed Dean's lead and pulled a few of Sam's clothes from the drawer. As soon as he had disappeared into the bathroom Dean began rummaging through Sam's other belongings. He couldn't find the demon knife but there was a spare angel blade under the bed and he shoved it in his waistband before pulling on one of Sam' jackets and his own, battered boots. He stepped out into the cool night and locked the door behind him. As soon as he stepped outside he felt alert, senses heightened, and had to remind himself that none of the souls of dead monsters were prowling here tonight.

He found Cas standing at the edge of the parking lot, staring at the panoply of lights just off the highway that was the city main of Kermit, Texas.

"Hey," he said.

Cas turned around, unsurprised to see him. "Hello, Dean."

Dean joined him, folding his arms and trying to figure out what Cas was looking at, exactly. "Thanks for breaking that up. They coulda gone on for hours, I think."

The corner of Cas's mouth turned up. "I wasn't sure you noticed."

"Took me minute," Dean said honestly. "Would you really have left again?"

"I wouldn't have gone far," Cas said. "I'm still not convinced that your father is your father, although I believe that he thinks he is."

"Ah," Dean said, not particularly wanting to start on that subject again. John certainly seemed to be John, but he still didn't have any proof beyond the mix of inadequacy and frustration the man still made him feel. He changed the subject. "So how _you_ doing? Being back."

"It was quiet in Purgatory. Now I hear all of them. All of you," Cas answered, staring out at the lights.

_In Purgatory, Cas had only heard Dean. _Dean swallowed, pushing that thought away before it could consume him. A light breeze rustled Cas's coat and across the parking lot, Dean noted with detachment that a very inebriated man was stumbling from his room toward the ice machine in a bathrobe. They really were home.

"How are you holding up?" Cas asked.

"Honestly? I don't know," Dean said before he could think to stop himself. It was Cas, after all, and he was just so tired. "I'm still pissed. Feel like I don't belong here anymore."

Cas squinted at him a moment. "Your father said the same thing."

Dean looked at him with a scrunched brow, surprised. John had never done much in the sharing of feelings department, at least with him. "He said that to you?"

"He appeared distressed. I asked."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, feeling the fury rise in him again. He couldn't care what his dad was feeling. Not after what he'd done. "He _doesn't_ belong here. With me and Sam. Not after what he did."

Cas looked troubled, more so than Dean would have expected given that Cas wasn't even sure John was John.

"What?" he barked. "You want to stand up for him?"

"He thought he was doing the right thing. To protect people. To protect you," Cas said earnestly.

"So?" Dean countered.

"Dean, please," Cas said, the emotion in his usually flat tone making Dean peer closer at him. "I have to believe… I have to believe that mistakes made for the right reasons can be forgiven."

He wanted to argue. To insist that what his dad had done was wrong and would never go away or be okay no matter what John's reasons had been. But then, he realized, Cas wasn't just talking about John anymore. "Of course they can. Just…don't run off again, okay?"

After a few moments they looked out over the city lights again, Dean somehow feeling even less sure of himself than before. If he could forgive Cas so easily for letting him down, for all he'd done, why couldn't he forgive his dad?

The sound of the ice machine had stopped and the hammered guy was returning across the parking lot. Something about his gait made Dean spin toward him, hackles rising. The man was moving steadily, now, his red face determined, and he wasn't carrying any ice.

"Cas," Dean said urgently, nodding toward the guy.

Cas turned away from the city lights, eyes narrowing as he followed Dean's gaze. Not only was the man clearly not drunk anymore, Dean noted, but his path was arcing away from the door he'd come from and toward John's room. Maybe there weren't any souls out here, but there sure were monsters.

"You see that?" Dean prompted, pulling the angel blade from his waistband.

"Yes," Cas said, taking a blade of his own from his coat. "That man is a demon."


	12. Chapter 12

John stared at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing what he saw. Not that he'd spent much time gazing at his own face in Hell, or in Purgatory, but the few wavering glimpses he'd caught in lakes or streams had been of a wild man, all long hair and tangled beard and dangerous eyes. Since he'd washed and taken a pair of scissors to the mess, the reflection looking back at him was almost human. Almost the John Winchester he could remember being before, well…before. He squinted at it, watching it squint back. The scar making a furrow from his left ear to his chin was a new addition, courtesy of a shtriga soul he'd killed two or three years back. The thick pinkish line crossing his bare chest had been from some vampire wielding a blade near the beginning of his tenure in Purgatory, and as he gazed at himself he found he could put a story to nearly every scar. And he looked gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and too-prominent cheekbones.

He shook his head at his own train of thought—wasn't like he was trying to win any beauty pageants here—and pulled on Sam's long-legged jeans, which didn't fit him a whole lot better than the other pair had Dean. A headache was pounding somewhere behind his eyes, some remnant of his trip through the portal, he supposed, that Cas's magical healing hadn't been able to stomp out. He rubbed at his forehead, willing it to go away, but it didn't. He'd just picked up the T-shirt when he heard a commotion, the unmistakable grunts and crashes of conflict, outside the door. He'd exchanged the shirt for a knife in an instant and was out the door, ready to face whatever it was. And so he was very surprised to see Dean and Cas tying a struggling, pudgy man in a bathrobe into a chair.

"Dean?" John asked.

"Look what we found outside," Dean said in explanation.

As soon as he spoke the man stopped struggling and raised his head to face John, a smile inching across his chubby face. "John Winchester," he said, then blinked, and his eyes flicked to black.

John was backing up before he could think, raising the knife he knew was useless against the creature. "That's a demon," he said.

Dean gave him a look like he'd just pointed at the chair and stammered _That's a chair_. "Yeah," he curtly, and John stared at him, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant about one of the creatures that had destroyed their family, killed their friends and the people who'd given them shelter, taken his soul and Dean's and tortured both of them in Hell for interminable decades. He knew that his boys had faced unimaginable enemies since he'd been gone, but seeing this was something else.

"Who sent you?" Cas asked the demon while Dean grabbed a thick marker from a table and started marking a circle on the linoleum floor around the chair.

The demon didn't respond, only leered at John, then disappeared in a rope of smoke out the man's mouth and fled through the cracks where the window met the wall. The man slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"Damn it!" Dean exclaimed, throwing the marker down and glancing around the room like the demon might still be there.

"There's nothing we could have done," Cas said pacifyingly. "I wonder where it's gone."

John realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. "What in the hell was that?" he demanded after a moment, somehow feeling even more like a rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet than before.

"What do you think?" Dean snapped.

"I know it was a demon," John retorted, not liking the lip he was getting from Dean though it annoyed him enough to shake off some of his paralyzing disbelief. Sure, his son could catch a demon like it was nothing, but that snotty tone he pulled out to sass John sometimes hadn't changed since he was a teenager. "Where did it come from and what the hell were you doing with it?"

"It was outside," Cas said. "We saw it heading toward the room. We intervened."

"Thought if we brought it back here we could get it to talk. Didn't think it would smoke off so soon," Dean said, then stared at John. "It recognized you. Must've run off to report."

"Report to who?" John asked, struggling to follow. "Only demons I really tangled with before I died were Yellow Eyes and his 'family.' In Hell…" he shrugged. They'd come and gone, sometimes to gawk and sometimes to join in, but aside from Alastair none had stuck around long enough to make his acquaintance.

"One of Crowley's?" Dean guessed.

Cas's response was hesitant. "Crowley holds a lot of power in Hell, but he's not the only powerful demon. And he knows us well enough—" he looked away just for a moment and John remembered that this Crowley was the creature Cas had betrayed Dean for, as well as the king of Hell and their ally on more than one occasion, "—that if he wanted something, I assume he would ask for it."

"Somebody's gotta get Sam," Dean decided. "See if he's smelled any sulfur in these parts lately." He glanced at the unconscious man. "I'll take this guy back. If he's lucky he'll just think he passed out there."

"I'll get Sam," John said.

"You will?" Dean sounded surprised.

In Purgatory, John had taken Dean's tales of the apocalypse and archangels and demons and everything else in stride because, so far away from everything, it had been easy to think of them as just that. Without context, they had a mythic quality, as if Dean was telling stories about someone else. But here, in a crappy motel room where Dean could wrangle demons and talk about the demon king of Hell like he was an old friend, it was impossible to deny how real Dean's stories had been. It was _his_ Dean who'd broken in Hell and started the apocalypse and _his_ Sam who'd set Lucifer free, but by the same token it was his boys who had nearly given everything to save the world from the forces of heaven and hell alike. And all he wanted suddenly was to go outside where he could clear his head.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Thanks," Dean said. "Be careful."

Despite the feeling that the whole damn world had shifted while he'd been gone, John couldn't help but give him a crooked smile. It was so very Dean—no matter how pissed he was, that protective streak of his wouldn't let John cross a parking lot where there might be a demon without a warning—that he answered easily. "Always am."

Once Dean had nodded and started untying the unconscious man's hands, John pulled on his t-shirt then stepped out into the still night and shut the door, leaving the warmth and the light behind. He breathed in deeply through his nose. His head was still aching but since the fresh air didn't seem to be helping any, he steeled himself and headed toward the room Sam had said was Amelia's.

Not wanting to surprise them again, he knocked on the door, a few businesslike raps. He heard the lock turn and Sam answered in sweatpants. Amelia was sitting cross-legged on the bed and from the indentation in the blankets it looked like Sam had just been sitting beside her. He noticed a dog sleeping on the floor and remembered how Sam had run away long ago and turned up weeks later in a cabin with a dog of his own. John had been so worried he'd nearly killed Dean that day.

"Dad?" Sam prompted, eyebrows climbing. "What's up?"

"We've got a…a situation," John stumbled over the words, not sure what to say in front of Amelia. This was new too, and he didn't like it.

"What kind of situation?" Sam asked.

"We had a visitor," John said sharply. "A very dark-eyed visitor. Sam, come on."

"You're kidding," Sam said, a touch irritated, as if it was John's fault a demon had showed up in his motel. But he took a deep breath after Amelia gave him an encouraging nod. "Okay. Right. I'll be right back, I guess. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Amelia said, then smiled at John. "Don't let him get into too much trouble." John stared at her flatly. "You look much better, by the way," she added. "I like the haircut."

John narrowed his eyes at her but couldn't think of anything particularly fitting to say in reply. "Come on, Sam."

As soon as they were out of the motel room John couldn't help himself. "What did you tell her about me?"

Sam looked taken aback but shrugged after glancing back to make sure they were far enough from the door that the sound wouldn't carry. "You've been in a mental institution since 2006, and after his…near-death experience overseas Dean decided it was time to get you out and do some family bonding. I thought he was really dead, and I tell people you're dead because I'm ashamed of your schizophrenia." He shrugged, then gestured with a big hand at John's cropped hair. "She's right. You look better."

"Sure," John said impatiently, not particularly liking how easy Sam had found it to throw him under the bus, though he had to appreciate the more-or-less-plausible nature of the explanation. Lying on the spot had never been Sam's forte so much as it had been Dean's, especially not to those he cared about. This, well, it was just another indication that things had changed and John felt another wave of helpless frustration. He was glad to be out of Purgatory, of course, and gladder to be out of Hell, but he'd never in all that time imagined things would be like this. He wondered, as he'd often used to wonder, what Mary would have thought of it all, and felt his stomach drop even more when he realized he had no idea.

"Dad?" Sam said. "You said there was a demon. What happened?"

"Dean and the angel can explain," John said curtly. He knew if he tried he'd only end up sounding more out of his depth than he felt.

"Okay," Sam said slowly, then studied John. "How are you adjusting to all this?"

"What?" John snapped at him. Dean had said Sam's psychic days were over but it was as if he'd read John's mind, and he hoped his feelings weren't written so clearly on his face. He'd always thought of Dean as the perceptive one, at least when it came to their family, but here was Sam trying to look out for his feelings despite how tensely they'd left things. "I'm fine," he said, a little suspiciously. He just wanted everything to be like it had been, Sam's bullheaded inability to see (or care about) his point of view included. "There was a demon here. We have to deal with that."

"Okay," Sam said again, still far too understanding. "As long as you're good with this. Let's talk to Dean."

John was tempted to pick another fight with him just to return to some sense of normality. After encountering Dean's apparently long-held bitterness he'd been so prepared to deal with Sam's that it hadn't even occurred to him that the kid might've forgiven him.

* * *

They'd resumed their places in Sam's room, Dean perched on the bed, Sam on the chair, while John stood with his arms crossed and Cas watched beside him, keeping mostly quiet. This time, Dean and Sam were arguing, equally passionate about the question that they faced now: whether to stay or leave.

"We should move out," Dean was insisting, addressing John urgently. "Demons are scoping us out, scoping _you_ out, it's bad news."

"We can't just leave," Sam aruged. "I can't just leave. I have a life here. Amelia has a life here. We can't just uproot her but I am not leaving her on her own if demons have made this place."

"Damn it, Sam, this is our family," Dean growled.

"It was one demon, Dean. We can handle it."

"It was looking for Dad and we don't know why. There's no reason to stay."

"Did you not-? Of course there's a reason to stay. My life here is a reason to stay."

"Since when do you have a life anywhere?"

Somehow they both ended up looked to John for affirmation at the same time, and he refolded his arms. "Dean's got a point. We're not safe." After years of running in Purgatory, it only seemed natural that they'd have to pick up again. "Other hand, thing found me so fast it's like it wasn't looking. More like it was just checking to see if I was really here. Somehow doubt moving to another town's going to change that much."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and both, amazingly, seemed to concede something. This was more like it, John thought. He might not have a place here in the calm and quiet, but throw a demon and a dispute over safety into the mix and—for all his boys had seen and done, for all dealing with a demon meant nothing to them, Dean's anger and Sam's inexplicable forgiveness—they were looking at him like what he thought mattered again.

"Look," Sam said. "If we stay here I can watch out for Amelia and she doesn't have to know anything. We can go if it gets hairy."

John nodded, figuring it sounded reasonable. And hell, he was tired.

"…Fine," Dean said after a moment, seeing himself outnumbered. "But first sign of trouble, we get the hell out of here."

"Of course," John said, running a hand over his now-clipped beard. Pale sunlight was beginning to shine through the curtains and his head was still aching persistently, right behind the eyes. Of course he didn't like the notion of demons on their tail—on his tail—but the feeling of being hunted was nothing new. At least here there were locks and walls and doorways to salt. And beds. "Until then, I say we all get some sleep."

"First sign of trouble," Dean repeated, then shook his head slightly. "Sure is good to be home."

John snorted. "Least it's home," he said, and was amazed to find that he meant it. More had changed than he'd imagined could in what had been six short years—at least up here—but he had his boys and, damn it, that was something.


	13. Chapter 13

_Note: This chapter has been edited and now ends in a slightly different place. Enjoy._

* * *

Sam had returned to Amelia's room as quietly as he could, taking care to close the door with no more than a quiet snick, but she stirred as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, dipping it down. He felt somewhere between exhausted and wired, and he still couldn't believe it. Dean was back. Dad was alive.

"Tell me more about him," Amelia said a few minutes later, after he'd told her they were all staying at the motel a while. She was sitting up with her back to the wall, knees pulled up to her chest. Sunlight was already streaming past the closed curtains. "What was he like? Your childhood? He's obviously an intense guy, Sam. I just want to know what I'm getting into here."

Sam took a deep breath, not sure how much to say or exactly how to say it.

"My dad kind of lost it when my mom was killed," Sam said after a few seconds, and watched Amelia's face soften in sympathy. He went on hurriedly, not liking the expression. "He thought the world was out to get us. Moved us around for years, trying to keep us away from monsters. He was insanely overprotective...and somehow at the same time, probably criminally neglectful." He paused a moment to let the absurdity of the statement sink in. "He'd do stuff like drill us for hours on how to fight a guy with a knife then leave us in a creepy motel for three days alone. Insisted that we follow every order, call him sir, like we were little soldiers. I thought I hated him." Amelia was still looking far too sympathetic, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. He _wanted_ to be honest with her, as much as he could, but he had long since passed the point of wanting or needing sympathy for his upbringing. "My brother showed up one day and told me Dad had gone missing. Took us a year to find him, and it was the same old stuff when we did. Couple days later a tractor trailer plowed into our car. Dean nearly died and my dad... realized some stuff, I guess. He…uh, he checked himself into the institution after that. But time passed and, I don't know. I forgave him."

"Did you ever tell him that?" Amelia asked.

"Actually, yeah," Sam realized, recalling the young version of his father who'd been so adamant that no child should be raised a hunter. "But he doesn't remember it. "

"I see," Amelia said. Dog panted a few times and stuck his head on Sam's lap, and he ruffled his ears absentmindedly.

Sam was glad Cas had given them all the chance to cool down. After all this time, the last thing he'd wanted was a fight, and he was a little embarrassed that as soon as John and Dean had shown up he'd given it to them. Of course, he'd been surprised and hurt that Dean had charged in accusing him of betrayal and it had rankled that John had so easily taken Dean's side. In years past he'd probably still have been fuming, replaying the injustices in his head and getting ready for the next round, at least with Dad. But now…what he'd told Amelia was at least, mostly, true. Dad had screwed up their childhoods about as much as one man could, but somewhere along the line he'd stopping being angry.

Still, as Dog jumped up next to him on the bed and settled there with his head on Sam's knee, he couldn't help but feel a tendril of worry working its way through his gut. For the first time in a long time, he'd been happy. But between Dad and an angry Dean and a demon in the mix, he couldn't help but feel that it was all about to slip away.

But today was a new day, he supposed, and after a few hours' sleep he'd be able to figure it all out. He relaxed back into bed with Amelia and awoke two hours later to someone frantically banging on their door.

He was out of bed in an instant, grabbing at the demon knife and flask of holy water he'd stowed under Amelia's bed, just in case. Amelia blinked at him, surprised but seeming to make some connection, then looked curiously at the door.

"Sam!" It was Dean's voice, sharp and apparently no less sanguine than before, and it sounded out once more before the banging started again. "Open up!"

His heart still trying to beat out of his rib cage, Sam sighed heavily and went to unlock the door, checking the peephole to see that there was in fact nothing more than an impatient Dean standing outside, arms folded.

"Took you long enough," Dean grumbled at him as he swung the door open, glancing around the room and giving Dog an undeservedly disgusted look before raising his hand and giving Amelia a sarcastic little wave.

"What is it?" Sam asked, still blinking sleep from his eyes and not at all in the mood for Dean's inexplicably pissy attitude.

"It's Kevin," Dean said flatly.

Sam squinted at him, not following. "It's Kevin."

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's parroting, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and slapped it into Sam's hand. Sam looked it over, recognizing one of the hunting phones he'd packed away months ago. "I went through your stuff," Dean said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. Sam took a patient breath, aware that Amelia's eyebrows were rising higher with every word Dean said. "Plugged in a few of these puppies and guess who calls? One very scared kid who says he just got away from Crowley no thanks to you." He glanced at Amelia, whose face was starting to scrunch with confusion, before taking Sam's arm and pulling him out of the room in his socks and shutting the door behind him.

"Just got away?" Sam asked. "As in, right now?"

Dean nodded. "Said he'd been working on this 'badass'"—he made air quotes—"demon bomb but before he could use it, everything went nuts. Demons fighting demons, didn't notice him getting away. Cas just zapped over to grab him."

"Well that's…great," Sam said, blinking, not sure why Dean still seemed so upset.

"Yeah, it's awesome," Dean said. "Except, demons fighting demons, right after one took a look at Dad and smoked off? What do you think the chances are this has nothing to do Mr. Ice Machine?" He looked Sam up and down, frowning at his rumpled hair and socked feet. "Come on. Get yourself together. Cas is probably back by now."

* * *

The first thing that surprised Sam as he entered was the aroma—freshly brewing coffee and the sweet, crunchy smell of toaster waffles he vaguely remembered stuffing in the mini-fridge a few weeks earlier. Even more shocking was the sight of a sort-of smiling John handing a plate stacked with waffles to one haggard but very much alive young prophet, who was seated at the little kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The sight evoked fuzzy memories from his earliest childhood, and Sam tamped down on the jealousy he knew had no place here.

"Thanks," Kevin said to John, taking the plate, then smiled knowingly at Sam, "Hi Sam."

Sam felt his stomach drop slightly, wondering what Dean and John had told him. Wondering, more, how he could possibly explain his actions to the kid himself. He set the demon knife down on the table and folded his arms. "Hey, Kevin."

"Kevin was just telling us how Crowley held him prisoner in a warehouse for six months," Dean said in a ruthlessly conversational tone, watching for Sam's reaction. Cas was sitting at the table as well, observing them quietly. "Made him translate the demon tablet."

Kevin nodded, then said around a huge bite of waffle. "I tricked him into thinking I translated the spell to open a hell gate, but really I made a bomb for demons. I'd just convinced them to take me out to try it when they started fighting. Crowley's demons started fighting another bunch of demons. They didn't notice me slipping away. I called you as soon as I could."

"The demon tablet?" Cas asked.

"Didn't have a chance to grab it," Kevin said with a shrug, then took another bite of waffle and added around it, "The demons who attacked—they practically swarmed the place. Like I said, I got away fast."

"Shame," Dean said, while Sam tried to cut in, "That's all right, Kevin." Dean's expression clouded as if he didn't like Sam trying to hand out absolution when Dean hadn't quite forgiven him yet.

Sam glanced at John, curious what his father thought about all of this, but John was sitting with his head in his hand, elbow on the table, and barely looking up. He thought it odd.

"So you think this has something to do with Dad," Sam said to Dean.

"Yes," Dean said. "I mean, what are the chances it's a coincidence? Not the kind I'd want to bet on, I'll tell you that."

Sam regarded him, trying to figure out where this was going. "...So?"

"So?" Dean looked incredulous. "So, obviously, there's something bigger going on here than we thought and Dad might be in the middle of it. So, maybe sitting around here diddling ourselves until something worse happens _isn't_ the best idea after all. First sign of trouble, remember, Sam? We're leaving."

Sam stared at him flatly, trying to suppress irritation at the condescending tone. Dad's attitude—which admittedly seemed under wraps this morning—he could understand. Dad had spent a century in Hell and far more time in Purgatory than Dean, and had come home to a world that was far different than the one he had left. Dean, on the other hand, had been gone for a mere six months, and while Sam had no doubt they'd been difficult months, there was a harshness to his brother's tone that he just didn't understand.

"Dean's right," John drawled, dropping his hand.

Sam shook his head, refusing to believe it. Not now. Not after he'd told Amelia they were all staying. "No, he's not," he insisted. "We talked about this. We're staying."

"No, we're not," Dean said.

John gave him a look, then addressed Sam in a gravelly voice. "I was tired last night." His fingers found his temple again and he rubbed it lightly, wincing. "I wasn't thinking clearly. Not about anyone but myself."

"Sure you were," Sam said. "You said it yourself. The demon found you so easily it shouldn't matter if we stay or go."

"Exactly," John said, and Sam tilted his head, not following. "Thing knew where I was. And that means, wherever I am isn't safe for anyone. I stay here, your girlfriend's in as much danger as we are. So stay or come with us, but do it alone. Demons probably don't know about her yet. Keep it that way."

Sam stared into his coffee, still trying to wrap his mind about the decision. He felt an old annoyance stirring up, because here was Dad, trying to drag him away from yet another town, another girl, the second he'd finally begun to feel like he belonged. It didn't matter if he was thirteen or thirty, it was the same old crap. Only...now, with a decade and more of hunting under his belt, he found that he actually kind of understood. It wasn't that John had no regard for what Sam wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sam," John said, and sounded it. "You're happy. I see that. That's why it's your choice - her or us."

Sam took a deep breath, wanting more than anything to tell him where to shove it, for making him choose, for assuming he knew best. But then, Sam also knew, without even a flash of realization, what he was going to do. He wasn't about to make the same mistake he'd made with Jess-trying to have a normal life when demons and angels and Dad and Dean were still out there. He couldn't even keep up the old resentment at being told, once more, that it was time to pack up and leave it all behind.

"I'll have to tell her something," Sam said. "I can't just leave."

John shook his head, expression hardening. "You come with us, you leave her behind. No contact. Better for her that way."


	14. Chapter 14

"Better?" Sam asked incredulously, huffing a little.

Whatever sympathy Dad had had for Sam's choice seemed to be evaporating quickly. "Yeah. I said better."

"This isn't your decision," Sam said.

John rubbed at his temples, then closed his eyes briefly, an obvious attempt at patience. "I know what I'm talking about, son." His voice came out in a low growl.

Dean watched the exchange dispassionately. Sam's irritation seemed to be building, and Dean waited for the inevitable explosion. He remembered that once upon a time, he'd cared a lot about Dad and Sam fighting. That in years prior he'd have stepped in already, trying to cool them down, to get Dad to see that Sam had a point and to get Sam to see that Dad was just looking out for him. But between what Dad had done, and whoever Sam had somehow become in just six months, he found he just didn't care. No, not that he didn't care. He _wanted_ them to go at each other, because he couldn't lash out himself - not without spilling way more than he wanted to to Sam and Kevin - and, hell, they both deserved it.

"Look, I just said I'm willing to leave all of this behind, for _you_," Sam pointed out testily, the words chasing one another . "And I'm really glad you're back. It's awesome. It's a, a miracle even. And I'm trying to be patient, I really am." He took a deep breath, as if to prove his point. "But we're not going back to what we were. I don't care if Dean's been taking orders from you, I'm not going to. Is that clear?"

Dean rolled his eyes at the insinuation that he was being the good little soldier, but didn't say anything. To be honest he wasn't sure what he _was_ doing. He knew he was angry, of course, for what John had done to Benny and to him and to Sam for their whole lives, but that god damned sense of obligation to John hadn't disappeared. That was why he needed Sam. To put Dad in his place.

"It's clear." John's eyes narrowed.

He and Sam stared at each other intently for a few moments, but to Dean's surprise, the argument didn't escalate. A disembodied voice in the back of his head thought _Sammy's grown up_. Or maybe, Dad had. Either way, it left him still frustrated and in need of a release. He wondered vaguely if Sam had any alcohol in his homey little motel room, but it didn't seem quite the right time to get up and start looking for it. Poor Kevin was staring at the remaining puddle of syrup on his plate and looking deeply like he wanted to be anywhere else, and Dean could relate.

Sam actually managed a smile. A slightly wobbly one, but a smile nonetheless. "You know, Dad," he, in his most conciliatory you-can-trust-me Sam voice, "When Dean and I went back and met you and Mom, in the seventies, I got to talk to you for a little while alone. And you know that I did then? I told you I forgave you. That I get why you did what you did. That's still true. I just... it has to be different this time. It-"

He broke off, because John was staring at him with utter disbelief. A slack jaw and everything. Dean felt an odd warmth creeping up his own cheeks, because he hadn't mentioned this at all to John. Meeting Mary, he'd supposed, fell into that category of subjects that'd probably still be too weird and painful to breach with John.

But of course, Sam hadn't known that, because Dean had only told him he'd "filled Dad in on everything."

"You met me and Mary."

"Yeah," Sam said, glancing at Dean for help, confused. "Dean didn't tell you?"

"No," Dean grunted. His gut twisted uncomfortably, and he stared at the patterned linoleum tabletop. He hadn't told John any of what they'd learned of Mary. Not that she'd been a hunter, that she'd made a deal with Azazel for John's life, or that she'd wanted anything but for her children to be raised in the life. That Mary hadn't really loved John, not until some cupid had stepped in and made her think she did.

"When did this happen?" John's voice was calm, no doubt deceptively so.

"Couple years ago," Sam said with another glance at Dean, seemingly perplexed - and mildly irritated - that Dean hadn't mentioned this already. "Dean went once, met you and Mom, then he and I both got sent back there. I...figured you knew. That it was, you know, pretty important." Another accusatory look at Dean.

Dean folded his arms. "I didn't think he needed to know," he said, then addressed John. "Look. Dad. It's really not that important. We just, we met you, that's all."

John scrubbed a hand down his face but didn't say anything. John's features were taking on empty look like he wanted to cry but couldn't. It was a look Dean hadn't seen since on his dad's face in a long time, and his twisted gut twisted even more. Even the inner voice that told him, _You wanted him to feel the pain you're feeling, now here's your chance_, sounded hollow.

The seconds stretched on, and Dean played with the too-long sleeve of Sam's borrowed shirt. Sam's eyes were locked on John, his brows pulled together in sympathy. Kevin's uncomfortable stare at his sticky plate got deeper. Only Cas seemed unaffected, his eyes roving curiously between John and Dean and Sam. Dean took a moment to remember how much simpler life had been when all he'd wanted was to find Cas and get back to Sam. He felt an odd surge of annoyance at John, as if it were his fault for showing up in Purgatory and throwing everything off balance.

Because it was off balance, he realized. His issues with John aside, John's presence had tilted everything, ever so slightly. What might've been a happy reunion with Sam, Sam's not looking for him aside, was strained and awkward and weird. His relationship with Cas - who he'd finally gotten back after that horrible year of thinking Cas was dead and then Cas's insanity and disappearance in Purgatory - had simply stalled, while Dean dealt with John and Cas harbored that inexplicable sympathy for him. The two people Dean cared most about, and John being here had messed it all up.

"So," John said finally, looking slowly between Dean and Sam. "What did you think of your mother?"

Dean and Sam traded glances. Dean kept his mouth shut, still not sure what he wanted to happen. It had been stupid of Sam to bring Mary up in the first place - but then there Dean was, mad at Sam, again, because of John. It wasn't right.

"She was beautiful," Sam said after a moment. John's shoulders sagged at the word _beautiful_. "And very...kind," Sam added. "And she kinda kicked ass. I mean, as a hunter, yeah, but just as a person too."

"As a _what_?" John echoed incredulously. He'd had his fingers pressed to his temple, like he had a headache, but he dropped his hand now and stared them down. "Mary was a what?"

"A hunter," Dean said shortly. "Yeah. Sorry I didn't mention it."

"She was raised in the life," Sam added gently. "Her dad. Samuel. He was a hunter too. That's why...I spent that whole year with him when I lost my soul." He squinted, as if unsure what John thought he'd been doing. Dean had conveniently forgotten to mention that Samuel had been a blood relation.

John opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes focusing on a faraway memory before burning into Dean and Sam again. "Is that why Yellow-Eyes killed her?"

Dean and Sam exchanged quick glances. Dean could see no reason to tell Dad that Mary, in fact, had been the first Winchester (in a way) to make a bad deal with the devil. Sam nodded imperceptibly - more a function of moving his eyes and his eyebrows than actually tilting his head - and Dean knew they were on the same page for once.

"I don't know," Sam said.

"Why did she leave the life?" John asked.

"She wanted a normal life," Sam said sympathetically. Dean thought of the argument that Sam and John had just been having, and wondered how Sam was managing to stay so neutral. "She wanted to have a family that could be safe and, and happy." He shook his head. "She thought you could give that to her."

"She..." John trailed off, and Dean could practically see years of guilt, of wondering if he was doing the right thing, wondering whether Mary would have approved, settling on his shoulders and pressing them down. He put his head in his hands again and took a deep breath.

After a moment's hesitation, Dean got up and moved behind John's chair, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. Seeing John like this... it didn't matter how pissed he was. He couldn't help himself from wanting to comfort him, to keep his dad together like he always had. Under his hand, he could feel the quick rise and fall of his breaths.

"It doesn't matter," Dean said aloud, hating himself a little for pretending it didn't. But he knew what Dad needed to hear.

"Like hell it doesn't!" John said, his voice breaking slightly and he dropped his hands to the table again, violently enough to make the silverware clatter. Kevin jumped, but John seemed unaware of anything but Dean and Sam and the words he had probably never wanted to hear. He glanced at his hands and Dean noticed, for the first time, that the wedding band was gone.

Dean felt a wave of pity mixed with frustration at himself. Again and again, he'd tried to be angry—about their childhoods, about leaving him to hunt Azazel, about how John had stared barking orders and criticizing him the second he'd found him, and of course, more than anything else, about what he'd done to Benny. But again and again, he hadn't been able to keep it up because John needed him. It was exactly the same as when he'd been a kid. Dad needed him to keep it together, and he needed Dad. Only now, he didn't need Dad to survive to or take care of Sam, and he still couldn't help himself from putting John first and letting that screw up everything he'd had with everyone else.

"You couldn't've known," Dean added, hating himself a little more with each word. "There was no way."

"He's right," Sam said. "I resented you for a long time for how you raised us," he said, the harsh words discordant with his placating tone. "But what you did, raising us in the life…yeah, it wasn't what Mom wanted. And it screwed us up. In a lot of ways. But it's also the reason we're still breathing. So, whatever else Mom might've wanted, I think… I think that's a good thing."

Dean nodded, aware John couldn't see him at this angle. But he didn't quite trust himself to say anything else.

"Is there anything else?" John asked, his voice thick.

No one said anything. Even Cas seemed to be avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Of course," John said bitterly, apparently taking Sam and Dean's silence to mean exactly what it did mean.

The silence stretched out.

John finally spoke again in a gruff voice that didn't quite belie the emotion still behind it. "Well if that's all." He stared around the table once more, his frustration palpable, then seemed to visibly bury it, shutting down all the emotion on his face. It left behind a pinched look, like he was in pain. Then he started barking out orders like nothing had happened. "Sam, get your stuff. Dean and I'll start packing up in here. Angel, prophet...check to make sure we haven't had any other black-eyed visitors."

Dean glanced around at Sam, Cas, and Kevin, but it seemed no one had the heart to argue with John's clear and somewhat desperate attempt to regain some kind of control. He wondered if John was keeping him behind because there was something he wanted to say to him- chew him out for not bringing up Mary, maybe? - or if Dean was simply the only one he felt comfortable showing so much anguish to.

"Sure, Dad," Sam said gently. A few seconds later, Dean and John were alone together.

Then he rested his elbows on the slightly wobbly table and putting his head between his hands again. He was grimacing, and Dean felt a stab of new worry - was all this pain emotional, or was there something wrong with him?

Unsure, Dean hovered awkwardly. His dad's face, though mostly covered by his hands, remained tense. Dean had just turned to start gathering some of Sam's crap to pack it, when the _plunk_ of a drop of liquid hitting the surface of the table caught his attention. He pivoted. He hadn't seen Dad cry - really cry - in a long, long time.

But it hadn't been a tear that had landed on the patterned tabletop. It was blood, and it was quickly followed by another, and another.

"Dad?" Dean asked, moving toward him.

When John didn't answer Dean pulled his hands away. Blood was pouring out of John's nose, what didn't get caught in his beard plunking against the linoleum tabletop. John's eyes were closed tightly and his jaw was clenched tightly.

"I'm—fine—Dean," he ground out unconvincingly. It struck Dean more as a reflexive response to Dean's concern than an actual assertion that nothing was wrong.

"Dad, what's going on?" Dean tried again, shoving down steadily rising panic. His mind flicked through the options—witches, demon mojo, angel mojo, a stroke?—but there were no obvious foes around and he felt blank. _Cas, get your ass back here_, he prayed. His dad had pressed a hand to his head again and the blood was drip-drip-dripping faster onto the table. Hex bags, he thought. He couldn't think of any damn reason a witch would be after them but spewing blood from any orifice for no reason usually meant something witchy and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to start.

Dean straightened abruptly, and started rummaging through the drawers and under the rumpled blankets and pillows. He's just torn the sheet off John's bed when John straightened up, eyes wide and unseeing though he was staring straight at Dean. Dean halted in his search.

"_It's him_," John gritted suddenly through clenched teeth. Then his eyes rolled back and his body slumped bonelessly out of the chair, hitting the tile of the motel room with a thud.


	15. Chapter 15

_Cas, get your ass over here_.

It was funny, Cas reflected, that had they still been in Purgatory he would have ignored the prayer as he had hundreds of others. Now, hearing—feeling—the urgency in the words, he turned abruptly away from Kevin and headed back into the room, ignoring the teen's mumbled, "Uh, where are you going?"

Inside, John was lying on his back on the tiled floor. Blood from his nose had streaked his face and cropped beard. Dean was on his knees beside him, checking his pulse with one hand, the other resting on the top of John's head. He glanced up when Cas entered, gesturing for him to join him.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked, kneeling.

"I don't know," Dean said, his voice tight with worry. "He just… got a nosebleed. Then he said '_it's him'_ and he fell."

"He said what?" Cas squinted his confusion, and his distrust. He had never forgotten the possibility that John might be other than what he claimed to be. Or that something else (someone else) might be using him to get at the Winchesters.

Dean took a sharp breath. "I don't know, Cas. Can you help him? Can you tell what's wrong?"

Cas rested a hand on John's forehead, but aside from the man's unconsciousness and a few burst blood vessels in his nose, he couldn't sense anything unusual. Slowly, in response to Dean's request, he sent healing energy flowing through John's body. The blood on his face cleared and the vessels in his nose closed, leaving him simply looking pale and tired. He was not yet at full power after a year in Purgatory and their trip through the portal, a fact he hadn't seen fit to mention to Dean yet, and the simple effort left him feeling a little lightheaded.

"I sense nothing," he told Dean. "Whatever happened, he does not seem to be injured. Why he's unconscious... I'm not certain."

Dean took a breath, and when he spoke he sounded very young. "Is he gonna wake up?"

"I don't know," Cas said grimly.

His little nod made Cas feel a rush of sympathy. "So can you tell what the hell is wrong with him?"

Cas placed his hand on John's head again, his eyes closing as he concentrated on sending his power throughout John's body, each muscle and nerve and vein, seeking. "No," he said after a moment, opening his eyes and looking at Dean. "I'm sorry."

"Damn it," Dean muttered. He was watching his father with a hawklike intensity, and shifted closer to him, as if he could will him to wake up that way. He grabbed John's hand and held it tight. Cas wondered what he was feeling, for he could only imagine what it must be like to see one's father felled so suddenly, and so inexplicably. "_Damn_ it! Cas, get Sam, we've got to -"

Then John's eyes fluttered, and Dean stopped midsentence.

"Dad?"

"…Dean?"

John was blinking blearily. To Cas, he looked utterly exhausted. Cas thought again about what he'd said - _it's him - _and wondered how much John remembered.

"I'm here, Dad," Dean said, giving Cas a look that said plainly, _Stay back_.

"I'm on the floor," John noted.

"Yeah. Are you okay?" Dean asked. "You remember what happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right, son." John squinted, appearing deep in thought. "But I don't remember... Just you and Sam telling me about... about Mary…" he trailed off, his face twisting slightly. "Had a bitch of a headache. Got worse, then..." he shrugged, his shoulders sliding on the tile floor.

"How do you feel now?" Dean asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," John said.

"So the headache's gone?" Dean prompted.

"Well, not exactly," John said, starting to roll over to sit up. Dean was behind him, helping him, immediately.

Cas was thoughtful. Dean's near panicked reaction had made one thing clear - Dean was more convinced than ever that John was his father. Enough so that he was willing to disregard John's highly concerning, and possibly damning, words.

"According to Dean, you spoke before you lost consciousness," Cas said. He would look out for Dean. and for Sam, even if Dean was unwilling to acknowledge that simply by being here John was a threat. "Do you remember that?"

John looked startled, the expression quickly morphing into one of unease. "No," he said, glancing at Dean, who still had one bracing hand on John's shoulder, accusingly. "Why didn't you say something about that?"

"Dad, I friggin' thought you were..." Dean started defensively, then deflated. "You said, _it's him_. You got any idea who 'he' is?"

"No," John said, struggling to sit up straighter. Cas was satisfied to see that he, at least, looked deeply disturbed. "Is that all I said?"

"Yeah," Dean said apologetically. "That's it."

John looked deep in thought, as if running in his mind through all the possibilities of who "he" might be. Cas had been doing the same. An obvious answer was that it had something to do with the demon they'd captured the night before - perhaps, whoever the demon had been about to report to. Or whoever had led the demon revolt against Crowley. But Cas was aware of no demons aside from Crowley who had remained major players after the fallout from the apocalypse. Of course, it was possible that one had risen to power while he'd been Emmanuel or while he'd been insane, and this possibility would have to be looked into. Of course, it was always possible that it wasn't a demon at all. Few beings had captured the demon's attention like Lucifer, after all. But Lucifer was safely locked in the cage, and Cas couldn't imagine how or why he might've found a way to John to get to John before John had gone to Purgatory. In Purgatory, of course, there were leviathans and other creatures who might have sought to use John as a means of escape. But who would John refer to so specifically? _Him_. _It's him_.

"It's okay, Dad," Dean said. "We'll figure it out. You want to, you know, lie down or something?"

"I'm fine, Dean," John insisted again, irritably. He was chewing the inside of his lip with worry. "Sam'll be back soon and we still gotta go."

Dean swallowed, concern written plainly on his face. "You don't want me to get him? Tell him what's going on?"

"Nah," John said. "Tell him when he gets back."

Dean just nodded.

* * *

Sam returned a few minutes later with Kevin, who had remained outside. John had moved, brushing off Dean's helping hands, to the room's one cushioned chair. He sat with his head in one hand, and exhausted and woozy. Dean had gotten to work stuffing some of Sam's things into a duffel bag. They'd spoken briefly about what had happened, and what John's words might mean, but neither Dean nor John had had any better ideas than Cas had had. They all supposed, uneasily, that they would just have to watch and wait.

"Hey, guys," Sam said hesitantly, taking in the tense atmosphere, and John's slumped position, with a furrowed brow. "Is everything okay?"

Dean and John traded glances. It occurred to Cas that for all their disagreements, they were far closer to one another than either was to Sam, at least at the moment. It didn't matter than Dean had clearly been glad to see his brother, or that John and Sam had hugged their greeting. Both, it seemed, were rejecting Sam along with rejecting his "normal" life, and keeping up a unified front against the youngest Winchester. At the very least, keeping him apart. Cas wondered idly if this was how it had always been for the Winchsters, when Sam had been young and still dreaming of college and the life his mother had wanted for him, while Dean had followed doggedly in his father's footsteps... or perhaps it was new, a result of the time Dean and John had spent together in the purifying wasteland of Purgatory. In either case Cas found Dean and Sam's lack of camaraderie unsettling.

"Weirdest damn thing," John said after a moment in an almost languid tone, as if he wasn't terrified at the notion of speaking words he could neither remember nor understand. "This headache I been having turned up to eleven, then I passed out. Still feel like I got hit by a truck."

"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly, dropping the armful of stuff he had brought over and going to John.

"Yeah," John said, smiling slightly. Even to Cas, who had found it hard to read human emotion on the best of days, it appeared strained. "I'm fine, son."

"All right," Sam said doubtfully.

"He also said _it's him,_" Cas added, irritated that both Dean nor John were being so reticent about it. John was clearly afraid, making him unwilling to discuss the source of that fear with his sons. But Sam should have been the first person to whom Dean went about something like this. It was, again, unsettling that he hadn't. "Before he passed out. We don't know what it means."

Sam's expression of worry somehow managed to intensify. "'_Him_'? That sounds...really ominous."

"Could be anyone," Dean said.

"God knows there've been plenty of _hims_ I've had a grudge against over the years. And we got no way of telling which one this is," John said. At the others' doubtful expressions, he added, "Not saying we forget about it. But right now, we gotta get out of here. We'll figure this out later. Sam, Dean's started packing you up. Now get the rest and let's get moving."

"Dad, you can't just - " Sam was looking to Dean for support, but Dean was avoiding his eyes. "There could be a spell to find this out. I've got a bunch of books on Purgatory in the trunk, maybe there's something there? We can't just ignore this."

"Sam, we gotta go," Dean said, in what was becoming a familiar frustrated tone, though his expression had softened a little at the revelation that Sam at least _had_ books on Purgatory. "Something's going on, and the demons know we're here, and that puts your girlfriend in danger. You want to be research guy, go for it, but do it on the road."

Sam's lips had pressed together, but after a moment he nodded. "Yeah. I'll do that. In the car. But I am not letting this drop, Dad."

"Yeah, all right, son," John drawled, letting his head tip back against the chair back. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Won't let it drop."

* * *

An hour later, they were on the road, with plans to head toward an old cabin of Bobby's friend Rufus. Dean took the wheel, one of the first genuine smiles that Cas had seen since their arrival back home spreading across his face as he slid into the leather seat, turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine grumble to life. Cas was glad to see it. Sam took the passenger seat with a melancholy expression and a glance back at the motel as soon as they pulled out, opening his phone for a few seconds before closing it again with a sigh and opening one of the books he'd pulled from the trunk. Though he and John had not resumed their conversation about Amelia, Sam seemed resigned to do what his family wanted...at least for now. That left Cas, Kevin, and John to squeeze into the backseat. Somehow, Cas found himself in the center seat, stiffly watching the road between the two front seats. Beside him, John leaned against the inside of the door. He looked haggard, the circles under his eyes pronounced, and his face had begun again to tighten into the pained expression he'd worn for hours before his mysterious episode. Kevin sat uncomfortably, seeming unsure of why exactly he was there. He had mentioned wanting to see his mother, but Dean had responded that now wasn't the time, and he'd fallen into a sullen silence...at least for now. Cas had wanted to offer to check on her, but he still felt worryingly drained from his healing of John, and wasn't entirely sure flying into what was likely a demon trap would be a good idea.

The miles fell away behind them. The landscape was vastly repetitive, the long highways cutting through rolling hills of bushes and sandy dirt. John and Sam and Dean talked intermittently, catching each other up on what they'd been doing over the past few years, but the conversations were short and awkward. Cas said little, aware that he was an outsider here. He knew that Dean had forgiven his betrayal enough to search for him in Purgatory, and he'd seemed interested in rekindling their friendship, at least for a little while. But Dean had also been angry and distracted since they'd left Benny in Purgatory, and Cas was unsure whether Dean thought it was at all his fault. If Cas had remained behind, after all, Benny could have ridden in Dean's arm and they would have had no such problems. But if that was confusing, he had absolutely no idea where he stood with Sam. The younger Winchester had been polite to him, but had hardly seemed happy to see him. And he, too, had been distracted and upset since they'd returned.

As he sat staring at the long stripe of highway ahead of them, trying not to worry that he no longer had a place with the Winchesters, Cas thought about what John had said, but reached no satisfactory conclusions. It could have been a demon, or something else. It could have been one known to John, or perhaps some other force had made him say "it's him" with such familiarity. Whatever the case, Cas resolved that he would find the answer. ...As soon as he wasn't quite so cramped in the backseat of the Impala with no way of actually learning anything.

"How 'bout some tunes," Dean said gruffly after about a half an hour had gone by in silence, thumbing the radio on and turning the dial. There were apparently few options in the wide, empty Texas desert, and he settled on the first song that came in clearly and wasn't pumping a dance beat.

_—you who are on the road, must have a code that you can live by, and so become yourself because the past is just a goodbye...teach your children well, their father's hell did slowly go by—_

It was the first music that John had heard in years, and Cas watched as his face shifted from a sort of melancholy nostalgia to a smirk as the words filled the cabin.

Dean let it play, apparently unaware of the effect it was having on John.

_—and you of tender years, can't know the fears that your elders grew by, and so please help them with your youth, seek the truth before they can die__—_

John snorted with laughter. "Tryin' to tell me something?" he said to Dean, who perked up, confused at first, then seemed to realize what John meant at _—__childen's hell will slowly go by_.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, then grabbed a tape and stuck it in. A grinding sound filled the cabin (Cas recognized it vaguely as something called Metallica that Dean claimed to enjoy).

Though he didn't stop his reading, Sam looked genuinely amused.

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence between the passengers, broken only by intermittent conversation about necessities such as stopping for food and gas, until darkness began to fall outside. They worked their way through several tapes. Dean seemed unwilling to trust the radio again, though John dozed off not long after, apparently drained from his experience.

In the driver's seat with one hand resting at the top of the wheel, Dean appeared, if not quite relaxed, then far more at peace than Cas had seen him since they had returned to Earth.

Sam had pulled out his cell phone again, the blue glow illuminating his face and creating an eerie reflection in the passenger side window. Cas watched as he typed into it, then stared at his doppelganger in the window, then typed some more. Dean glanced over but didn't comment.

Around nine, Dean pulled into a motel. Its sign featured the Utah Arch_—_one of father's more impressive creations, in Cas's opinion_—_though Cas had no idea if they were even in the vicinity. Otherwise, it was indistinct, as far as motels went.

"We'll get an early start tomorrow," Dean promised, stifling a yawn.

No one answered.

After rousing John, who seemed no less exhausted despite his several hour nap, they checked into two rooms. Dean and John would share one, while Sam and Kevin would share the other. Cas had offered once more to watch over them while they slept, prompting a roll of the eyes from Dean, which was more upsetting than Cas particularly wanted to admit even to himself. Cas had often watched over them in Purgatory. Though he knew he still had a ways to go before securing Dean's trust again fully, he had thought that such an offer would be welcomed here, where demon stalked the night and something - or someone - was clearly using John to some nefarious purpose.

"I'm gonna check the perimeter," Dean said, after they'd retired to their rooms, salted the doors and windows, and warded them against demons. Sleep had been a luxury in Purgatory, not a necessity, and Dean seemed determined to fight it here for as long as he could, though he was practically slurring his words with exhaustion.

Cas had originally joined him and John in their room, himself determined not to let John out of his sight. At which point John had excused himself to shower, somewhat thwarting his plans. Now, he looked over Dean worriedly, taking in the pallor of his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Perhaps you should rest. I can patrol the motel."

"Nah. Stay with my dad," Dean said, glancing at the closed bathroom door, where the spatter of the shower could be heard. Perhaps he was more worried about John's cryptic than he let on. Or perhaps, he was simply worried about John. "Won't be out long."

"Very well," Cas decided after a moment. "But you should...take care of yourself, as well."

Dean's face slipped into a crooked smile. "Yeah, thanks. I will."

He patted him on the shoulder as he left.

Cas had to suppress a sigh. He missed the easy camaraderie they'd once had. Before John, before Purgatory, before Cas had betrayed him and played God and lost everything. Dean's causal motion had been a reminder of that, and Cas imagined that he could feel the skin tingling under the fabric of his coat and shirt where Dean had touched him. It was a foolish notion.

John emerged soon after Dean had left, damp and wearing a T-shirt and Sam's old sweatpants, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hey," he greeted Cas.

Cas nodded his hello.

"Dean went out?" John glanced around, as if to be certain they were alone. As soon as Cas had assured him that Dean was patrolling the perimeter of the motel, John straightened up and said in an abrupt tone, "I wanna know what you know."

"What I know about what?" Cas squinted at him. In their earlier discussions, Cas had made it clear that he knew nothing about what had happened to John, nor who _he_ might be, and he had already shared all of his hypotheses.

John sighed and settled onto one of the beds to sit. "Mary."

Cas tilted his head. "What _I _know?"

"Look, I know there was more," John asked, frustration edging into his voice. "More than my boys told me. You're an angel. You knew all about our 'bloodline' when it came to my boys being vessels, and you took them back to meet her, didn't you? They won't tell me more and that's fine, this isn't something I can talk to them about anyway. But you, you know more than you let on and I want to know."

"I'm not sure I should..." Cas made a vague gesture. He knew there were things that Dean did not want John to know, and he had no desire to alienate Dean any further. Nor did he want to upset Sam. He needed to regain the Winchesters' trust... his Winchesters' trust.

John looked up at him, then after a long moment, one corner of mouth turning up. "You're loyal to them."

"Yes," Cas said. "Of course."

"It's all right. That's not a bad thing," John said. He sounded too tired to argue. "You're a good...angel. Or whatever. My boys did all right with you."

"Thank you," Cas said, a little unsure of himself. Dean had seemed barely interested in his friendship since John had returned, aside from that one conversation overlooking Kermit, and Sam too had seemed too preoccupied to deal with him. Cas had told himself that that was all right; that the Winchesters had always preferred his company when they needed him, and that such a time was sure to come around soon. It felt odd to hear John of all people compliment him on his friendship with them. But it wasn't exactly a bad feeling.

"Uh huh," John said, moving back onto the bed and pulling the covers up around himself. "I'm calling it. G'night, angel. And - "

Whatever John might have said, however, was cut off by a deep, bloodcurdling scream outside.

Cas met John's eyes. "Dean," they said at the exact same time.

* * *

_Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or followed this story! I tend to use my somewhat limited fanfiction time for writing rather than replying to messages, but I really do appreciate every single one. You guys are awesome._


	16. Chapter 16

Whatever had happened to John had knocked him out more than he wanted to admit. Though he'd spent much of the afternoon dozing against the door of the Impala, his body still felt rubbery with exhaustion, the infernal headache pounded, and his thoughts swirled with little of the mental discipline he usually prided himself in.

It chilled him to think he'd spoken words he didn't understand, referenced some being he didn't know. That sort of thing bespoke possession, or worse. But keeping things from his boys—dangerous things, things that could hurt them worse than not knowing—was a long ingrained habit he hadn't found it in himself to break. They didn't need to know the extent of his fears. They didn't need to know that he'd spent nearly every waking moment mulling over what those words might mean, who _he_ was, what it had to do with him being in Purgatory and whatever had kept the leviathans off his ass and the demon that had visited him and the fighting demons the kid had talk about, or that John Winchester was terrified.

When he hadn't been worrying about demons, John's mind had inexorably returned to the one other topic he'd always found it hard to discuss with his boys, except to impress on them the importance of honoring their mother's memory by killing every last even son of a bitch they could find. Mary. The notion that Mary had been a hunter spun around and around in his mind, seeming to carve a repetitious path through his thoughts. Mary had been a hunter. (Unbelievable.) Mary hadn't told him. (What else hadn't she told him?) Mary hadn't wanted to raise her kids in the life. (She'd never forgive him for what he'd done.)

And so - despite how much he wanted to talk to his boys, to get to know Sam again - he'd kept his mouth shut most of the way. He didn't trust himself to talk about either subject, but he couldn't think about anything else.

He'd asked Cas about Mary on a whim. With both sons gone, it had seemed a good idea for a moment...not that he'd learned anything. Far from making him want to know more, though, Cas's evasiveness had scared him. What could there possibly be that could be worse than Mary hating the way he'd raised their children? What did they all know that they wanted so desperately to keep from him? He'd let the subject drop like he'd touched something hot. It was pure cowardice, of course, but there was only so much of a beating his memory of her could take, and in any case John was exhausted. The softness of the blankets, still jarring after years of sleeping on rough ground, surrounded him and made him think that he might even sleep through the nightmares. He'd keep pressing tomorrow. When, maybe, he could take it.

Then Dean screamed.

In a second John had forgotten his exhaustion, thrown off the soft covers and grabbed a flask of holy water from his bag. He crossed the room to the door, not bothering to put on his boots. Cas produced a long, silvery blade from his sleeve and handed it to John, with the clipped words, "You may need this."

John took it with a nod, threw open the door, and together they squinted into the darkness.

When Dean shouted again it was ragged with pain.

John and Cas took off together at a run toward the noise, crossing the parking lot in long, breathless seconds. Dean screamed a third time, though it cut off into a guttural groan. Doors were opening all along the length of the motel, slivers of yellow light appearing along its length.

Dean came into view as they crossed the parking lot, away from the glow of the motel lights.

There were multiple figures, seven or eight, and their even in the pale moonlight John could make out their black eyes. It was more demons than John had ever seen in the one place outside of Hell, and his heart hammered as he tried to make out Dean. His son was pinned up against a large, pale rock-like thing (the base of the Utah Arch sign, John noted distantly) by an invisible force. His back was arched against the pale stone, and John could see dark lines of blood criss-crossing his chest and darkening his too-large checkered shirt.

The horror and familiarity of the image froze John for a moment, but only for a moment, then he splashed the holy water across the demons with a yell of his own. Sizzling and shouting, and apparently surprised, the demons spun around toward them. Cas was already striding forward with a hand raised and he pressed a palm to a demon's forehead, gripping her hairline. The demon fell with a buzz of electricity and flash of light and Cas staggered back slightly. He righted himself quickly enough and did the same to another, then another in quick succession. A demon lunged at John but he dodged it, his first swing with the angel blade going wide, his second thrusting into the man's chest. He pulled it out with a _schuck _and spun around. Dean had fallen, landing on his hands and knees coughing and gasping in the dusty soil at the base of the rock. John lurched toward him. Cas smote another demon but staggered too close to another, who hit him with something, sending him to his hands and knees. John leapt to help him but he was too slow and an invisible force - more demon mojo - hit him like Mack truck and sent him flying. The world spun crazily around him as he flew over the rocky ground, arcing several yards to only to smack down, bounce and roll to a stop feet away.

He was pushing himself up, ignoring his protesting body, when he heard one demon say the other, "Idiot! That's him!"

He had little chance to process the words, for the remaining demons had surrounded Cas, two holding him while the third drove a long, silver blade into his chest—or what would have been his chest, had a tall, powerful figure not leapt from the darkness, knocking the demons aside and plunging a knife into the back of one and the throat of the other. The blade went wide and Cas sunk to the ground, clutching his side even as the demon who'd been wielding it collapsed sparking. The third demon disappeared in a long rope of smoke through its host's gaping mouth before the others had even fallen to the ground. The host fell with a thump.

"Damn it!" Sam grunted. Then he headed toward Dean.

The silence that followed was somehow more shocking than the fight. John pressed his palms to the rocky ground and shoved himself up, making it to his hands and knees, then staggering to his feet. Pain shot through his right ankle, and his bare heel was torn seemingly near in half, but he limped resolutely back toward his sons and Cas, and knelt beside Dean. Pain, injury, exhaustion...none of it meant anything when one of his sons was hurt.

Sam was already there. "What the hell?" his youngest greeted him in a breathy voice, giving him a once over. "I thought I heard a scream but...what the hell?"

"Dunno," John grunted, totally focused on Dean. His eldest was stirring, thank God. But his chest was dark with blood and he groaned weakly when John tried to pull his shirt aside to see the damage.

"Demon smoked out. We're gonna have to move again," Sam said, shaking his brother, who groaned again. He cupped Dean's head in one large hand, sounding horribly worried. "Dean, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

They were joined a second later by Cas, who was pressing one hand against his side. He seemed wobbly, though whether that was from the energy he'd apparently expended fighting the demons, or from the long gash in his gut that seemed to be leaking blue light, John had no idea. "Move over, Sam," Cas gritted, then rested a hand on Dean's chest and closed his eyes. Energy flowed across Dean's torso for a second, two, before it sparked like there had been a short and Cas fell back, landing on his ass with a grunt.

"Cas?" Sam asked desperately.

Cas didn't answer but Dean coughed slightly and started trying to sit up, blinking and confused. Sam helped him gently, trying to pull his shredded shirt aside at the same time. Dean grimaced and tried to push his hand away.

"…Demons," Dean said. "There were demons."

In the near-darkness John could practically feel Sam roll his eyes with fond relief. "Yeah, Dean," Sam said. "There were demons. They hurt you but Cas healed you...kind of." He spared at glance at Cas, who was hunched over with a hand still pressed to his side, before asking Dean, "Are you all right?"

"Guts were fallin' out," Dean said woozily, pressing a hand to his chest and gasping slightly and wincing. His hand came away dark with blood but he shrugged. "…They're not anymore. Cas?"

"I'm right here," Cas said, but didn't move from where he'd fallen backward away from Dean. Dean craned his neck to look at him. "I'm afraid I'm not at full power, Dean, I'm sorry I can't heal you more. I fixed the worst of the damage."

"'Sokay, man," Dean slurred, slumping back against Sam slightly.

Twinkling red and blue lights had appeared in the distance, far enough down long stretch of road they might have been the faraway blinking lights of a jet plane. John had nearly forgotten what it was like to be in such a wide open space, with neither trees nor dank stone walls to block his view. He's also forgotten that out here, in the human world, a loud fight not a hundred feet from a full motel would not go unnoticed.

"So we're all okay?" Sam asked. "You know, more or less?"

"Fine," John answered, ignoring the sharp pain that blossomed in his ankle as he stood. He'd had worse.

"I'm okay," Dean said.

"All right," Sam said, heaving Dean up like he weighed nothing and supporting him with an arm around his chest. John watched Dean sink against him, feeling something he didn't quite understand. The lanky boy Sam had been been the last time John had seen him would never have been able to do the same so easily.

Dean grunted his pain but managed to find his feet, pulling away from Sam slightly. "Sammy, take the keys. Gotta get outta here before the cops come. Demons are coming when we stop somewhere...can't get stuck in jail. Or at the hospital."

John crouched to help Cas up and ended up hooking an arm around his chest and tugging him to his feet. Cas protested in a mumble that he was fine, but John ignored him. Dean was right. They had to move, and fast.

Together, they limped back to the motel rooms. Sam gave Kevin a hasty explanation as they packed up and tossed the bags in the trunk, while John and Dean took care of their own. Luckily, they'd hardly had the time to unpack, and they were ready to go in minutes.

In the fluorescent light above the motel room mirror Dean looked near gray and could barely stand on his own without wobbling. John watched him carefully, worried, and insisted on checking the injuries himself when Dean swapped his blood-soaked shirt for a slightly less conspicuous one. What had once been deep scores into Dean's body had puckered and begun to close, as if they'd been stitched together a few days. Though they crossed his torso in several places and were still beading blood sluggishly. Though Dean was clearly unsteady on his feet, John was satisfied that his son wasn't going to bleed out. In any case Dean managed to lug his duffel out to the car, toss it in the trunk and lean almost casually against the door as he handed over the keys to Sam.

Sam rolled the Impala out of the parking lot just as the cops rolled in from the other side, lights flashing bright blue and red. Dean was in the front passenger seat, sitting stiffly with one hand cupped over his stomach where some of the worst cuts had been. This time, Cas and John had the window seats. The angel sat hunched, one hand pressed to his side, but alert.

John once again felt beyond exhaustion, like every thought and movement required a precise and possibly insurmountable effort, and the nagging pain that had spiked before his episode earlier had yet to go away completely. On top of that his ankle was stabbing pain, and the deep cut in his foot was throbbing and making his sock and the inside of his boot squishy with blood. They'd need to stop, soon, and tend to all of their injuries. At the moment, though, John had no qualms with putting some distance between themselves and the motel.

"So they're definitely following Dad," Sam said once they were safely back on the main highway.

"Seems like," Dean agreed, his voice tight with pain. John felt another surge of worry for him - he'd really gotten chewed up back there - but Dean went on in a casual tone. "They came outta nowhere but they knew me. Wanted me to scream. I think they were hoping you'd come running, Dad."

John nodded, troubled but not surprised. He recalled how he'd been recognized after the demon threw him, and supposed it was lucky. If he'd been nearer to them, they might've just grabbed him and gone.

"Clearly, they want him for something," Cas added, his usually gravelly voice downright hoarse and halting. Dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, and even in the shadows his skin looked deathly pale. John wondered just how much of his life force he'd put into healing Dean. Cas went on, "I think we can assume that it is related to his episode earlier. And the demon at the first motel. And quite possibly the demon uprising. Though I wonder why they waited until we'd stopped to come to us."

"Car's warded," Sam suggested. "Just about every place it can be."

"That is possible," Cas allowed.

John stared out the window. He had no idea what was going on, of course, but what seemed like the most obvious thought in the world had just slammed him in the face. "You're not safe with me. Any of you," he said abruptly. "They're after me and they're willing to use you to get to me."

"We're not leaving you," Dean said resolutely, before John could even say it outright.

"Dean—" John began, but Dean cut him off.

"I don't care, Dad," Dean said, sounding roughly as tired as John felt. "Whatever you're gonna say, I don't care. We're in this together. No more 'leaving me for my own good.' Not from you, not from Cas, not anymore. It never turns out well and I've damn well had enough of it."

John opened his mouth to argue, but Sam chimed in first.

"We can deal with demons, Dad," he said. "We've fought them before - like you wouldn't imagine - and we've won. You're gonna need us."

"I can hold my own," John said.

"More importantly," Sam went on, ignoring him, "whatever's going on might be big. I mean, we know it's at least demon-uprising-in-Hell big. And you're the only lead we got. So you are not going anywhere, at least not til we figure out this 'its him' business and what we need to do to stop it."

Dean looked grateful for the intervention.

John had to admit Sam was right. In this world of demons and angels John really was out of his depth, and he needed them. And beyond that, beyond his being tired and hurt and unsure of himself, John had to admit that leaving his sons was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. In the face of this new danger, Dean seemed to have at least put his anger aside, and Sam was making him proud. It was selfish as hell, he knew, but he didn't want to leave.

"Fine," he said aloud. "'Til we figure this out."

"What we gotta do is get somewhere safe where we can hole up," Dean said. "Safer than another crap motel, I mean."

"Safe. Yeah. Great idea," Sam said. "Where?"

"I don't know, man," Dean sighed, shifting in his seat and wincing. His chest had to be stinging like a son of a bitch by now.

"Cas, how long 'til your powers come back?" Sam asked.

Cas shook his head slightly. "I don't know. I'm sorry, Sam." He glanced down at his injury, and added cryptically, "I have lost some grace."

"Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean said, sounding worried. "Can't expect you to keep them all at bay, anyway. We need to find somewhere safe, and figure out what the hell's going on, and how we fight it."

John pressed his lips together, acutely aware that any place he considered a safe house might have been compromised or abandoned in the years he'd been away, and feeling very useless.

"What about Bobby's?" Sam said suddenly.

"It burned down, Sam," Dean said, in a tone that suggested maybe Sam should get his head checked.

"The house. Yeah," Sam said. "The panic room might still be there. It was underground, and made of iron. It's worth a shot, right? Unless you've got some other demon-proof haven up your sleeve."

"…Guess not," Dean admitted grudgingly, then grimaced. "Demons, man. It's been a while."

"Yeah."

The two shared a moment that made John feel, once again, like the whole world had changed. Rather than dwelling on it, he sank back into his own seat, his ankle pinging painfully as he shifted. His heel stung where he'd torn it against a rock, and the rest of his body ached, too, in an undefined sort of way, insisting on reminding him of all his fifty-plus years. Then his sons' words finally percolated his mind fully.

"You said Bobby's?" he asked abruptly. "We're going to Bobby Singer's place?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said uncertainly.

John thought of the last he'd seen of the irascible hunter, how Bobby had pointed the shotgun on him and told him in no uncertain terms, if he ever stepped foot on his property again he'd shoot him, and fought back an absurd desire to chuckle. He knew Bobby was dead, and had gathered from Dean's tales in Purgatory that the old hunter had come to mean something to his sons, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. "Wonders never cease," he drawled.

Somehow, the frowns that drew out of both of his sons didn't make it any less funny.

"We have a ways to go," Sam said in a humorless tone. "Vicinity of fifteen, eighteen hours, I'd say. I'll stop for gas in a few, and we can patch you guys up as best we can with the first aid kit. I just want to get some distance between us and…well, you know."

"Yeah, we know," Dean said, touching his chest gingerly and wincing. He rested his head back against the seat. "Hell of a day."

They drove on.


End file.
